The (Almost) Gentleman with the Book of Poems
by allavengedromance
Summary: As the youngest son in a proper family, Arthur struggles to fit in and live up to expectations. Dinners with a business partner's family introduces him to Francis, who lives life without limits. Despite Francis's example, Arthur stumbles in rebellion and must learn to accept himself, his feelings and the help of friends. Prequel to The Boy with the Backpack but stands alone. FrUK
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

All life begins the same: with a scream. In Arthur's case, the scream came from both his mother and his small form as he cried after taking his first breath. Although he would never remember that moment, as he grew older, he would resent it. Things would be easier if that moment did not happen, if there were complications, if his parents decided to use a fucking condom and stop after two kids. Arthur sat against a building down a side street, removing a needle from his arm.

Man, _fuck_ his family.

* * *

Chapter 1: A Gentleman's Introduction

Despite where he ended up, Arthur really had a decent setup for growing up. His parents were wealthy – both came from old money but continued working to expand their reach. He was able to afford luxuries, and have his own space despite being the youngest of three.

Sadly, with every privilege, came a sacrifice. Young children rarely are aware of the sacrifices that need to be made to achieve happiness, and Arthur had no idea how things could really get. He could only absorb information about his family, what was expected, and what was good.

The Kirklands were required to entertain and maintain a certain appearance. They were a high class, proper family, and all their children were to be instilled with the same values. Mr. Kirkland spent time teaching his sons how to be proper gentleman and all the idiosyncrasies that went with being a Kirkland.

Although lessons and etiquette bored Arthur, he valued his father's words and thoughts. His dad was the man of the house and what he said was fact - all there was to be learned about the world could be learned from Arthur's father. His dad was respected and the kind of person everyone should be, so Arthur worked to mimic his father. By age five, Arthur could state basic facts about gentlemanliness, although at this time he didn't quite understand the meaning of the words. He was young and content with his place in life.

Things changed as he grew older. Constantly striving to compete and match his two older brother's wore him down. Arthur always thought Scott was the favorite. Scott's talents and interests were as if God threw all the ingredients needed to create a perfect Kirkland heir ready to take over the family business into one womb ready to be shot out and take on the world.

At age fifteen, Arthur resented Scott. Unlike his brothers, Arthur had no interested in hard sciences or business, rather, he liked creative endeavors like literature and creative writing. That same year, Arthur's other brother Walter pointed out something that helped shape Arthur's early teen years.

Walter stumbled on Arthur sitting on the stairs sulking.

"Any reason why you are playing bridge troll and blocking the way?" Walt questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Arthur responded with a strug, attempting to hide his face behind his almost non-existent bangs.

Walt let out a sigh and sat down next to his brother. "You know Scott is full of shit, right?"

Arthur lifted his head to give his brother a soft glare - hard in the face yet soft in the eyes - at the use of language their dad would scoff at and for already knowing the problem. Walt rose his eyebrows in return letting Arthur know he wouldn't let the silent treatment last much longer.

Arthur huffed, "It's the same as usual. I just want to be good at the stuff that matters or at least be able to pretend to like it."

Walt scooted to face his brother head-on stating, "Arthur, you're not this dumb. None of that business and math stuff matters," he held up a hand stopping any protests, "If Scott is good at it, and runs the business, why do you need to also do the same thing?"

Arthur paused. He supposed it was always important to pursue the family business for their parents and all the respect he'd receive but Walt had a point - he had no plans to pursue the business, but, rather, was interested in biology and animal sciences.

Walt continued casually as he watch Arthur consider his words, "Go after what you want and be successful at that. They just want successful children. They don't really care what you do as long as its enough to brag about at a dinner party. So do what you like."

Arthur's huff and mumble in response was not what Walter was expecting from his quiet younger brother.

"What?"

"I can't pursue my interests."

"Why's that?" Walt questioned.

Arthur refused to make eye contact until Walter nudged him and gestured to continue.

Arthur swallowed before stuttering out, "My interests are puff interests."

Walter scowled, "Says who?"

"Scott," Walter rolled his eyes in response as Arthur continued to mumble, "and… dad."

"God, you need to learn to stand up for yourself," Walter once again put a hand up to stop Arthur's response, smirking at the irony of the action, "Don't listen to them. Tons of great men pursued literature and philosophy. Look it up. You're smart and better at words than anyone in this family. If dad makes a comment, quote C.S. Louis. Talk about the publishing industry or great thinkers - something."

He took a breath and put an arm around his brother. "Yeah, they might not get it right away, and you might have to be an educator, but, come on, you're reaching the point in life where you have to realize dad doesn't know everything. Sometimes you have to explain things and argue your point. Just… don't let them stop you from being who you are."

Arthur swallowed and blinked in order reign in his emotions - proper gentleman do not burden others with unnecessary emotions, and good businessmen do not show all their cards on their faces. He nodded in understanding, hoping Walter knew how important his words were.

Walter stood up and straightened his shirt. "Good talk. Now, let me pass. I need to change. The Bonnefoy's are coming for dinner, remember?"

How could Arthur possibly forget the Bonnefoys were coming? Their dinners had been happening more and more over the years and were on the verge of becoming a regular thing. Now with all of both families! The reminder made him internally shudder. He didn't want to have to put of the business face for an entire French family while adults snuck business talk into conversations. Arthur never paid much attention to the business talk, only ever pretending, but the Bonnefoys were in business with the Kirklands and a good relationship was necessary, despite the families' stark differences.

Arthur went to his room to find something nicer to wear. It had been a while since they had a joint family dinner. Recently, Mr. Bonnefoy came alone or had just his wife with him. Now, the couple had recently moved to London with their only son, so family dinners were necessary as a sign of good faith, apparently. Arthur didn't get it, but maybe that is why he was not cut out to be a businessman. God, that thought stung considering he comes from a family drenched in the politics of entrepreneurship.

After putting on his formal clothes and spending five minutes attempting to tame his hair in a respectable way, Arthur dropped into his desk chair with a grunt. He ran his fingers over his desk, tracing books and papers, while reflecting on what Walter said.

He should have thanked his brother for saying exactly what he needed to hear - it was okay not to fit in an existing space in his family; he had to make a space for himself. Arthur never really fit with his family, always the outcast masquerading as a typical Kirkland. He didn't know what it was that forced him to be so different despite what he tried. At least Walter saw past the facade, saw that Arthur was struggling and was unhappy in his attempts to do what he thought his father wanted.

His hand paused when tracing a copy of _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_, a specialty bound version gifted to Arthur by his mom but picked out by Walter.

"C.S. Louis, huh?" Arthur mumbled to himself.

His mom didn't know it, but Walter wrote a note on the inside - he still appreciated his mom trying to get something fitting his interests, even if she went through his brother. He grabbed the book, and, leaning back in his chair, opening the cover.

_To the Littlest Man,_

_Growing up here is fast and difficult. Take some time to escape and find yourself. The wardrobe and the opportunities inside are tempting, but remember there's a lot to miss on the outside._

_-Walter_

It was a comfort to have someone looking out for him that really understood, but it always seemed Walter knew more about Arthur than Arthur did. The thought could be concerning, but sometimes it is nice to have someone nearby who can see through your masks and steer you the right way.

A knock on the door frame shook Arthur out of his thoughts

"You need to come downstairs. The Bonnefoys will be here soon," demanded Scott.

Arthur put the book down and went to follow Scott as his older brother called him a bookworm good naturedly. Arthur responded with an eye roll.

"Did dad tell you about tonight?" Scott questioned.

Arthur admitted, "I'm sure there's something I missed, why?"

"You remember the Bonnefoy kid, Francis?"

"I can't even remember the last time we saw him or anything about him, but I know he's coming. Family dinners are the new craze I hear." Sarcasm dripped through his words.

Scott snorted at the joke amused but added, "Well, the kid is your age, so you get to entertain him." Arthur groaned. He hated having jobs at these kind of things, but at least no one pays attention to keeping kids busy. Scott continued, "Don't complain. The rest of us have to try to impress the parents, and you know how they are."

Arthur did know how they were: French. That was it. The couple had many eccentricities that irked Arthur's father, but Arthur was sure their traits were cultural. The pair carried an air of drama about them that heavily contrasted the stiff professionalism of Arthur's family. He secretly found himself drawn to it and liked them, but he would never let his family know that. Hell, he barely admitted it to himself.

As they reaching the bottom of the stairs where Walter was already waiting, Arthur's dad emerged to look over his sons, occasionally straightening a collar. Arthur jolted at the force his father exerted while pulling his collar and tried to hide his annoyance when his dad patted his shoulders twice in succession. Thank God he wasn't wearing a tie this time.

"Alright boys, you know the drill. We are hosting, so be courteous. These are friends, but it is still business, remember that. Best behavior," demanded the Kirkland patriarch.

Mrs. Kirkland stood by, commenting on how handsome her boys looks, and holding back from ruffling Arthur's hair out of place.

The doorbell rang, and the inaugural Kirkland-Bonnefoy family dinner party began.

* * *

After an overly long dinner and refusal of post-dinner coffee, the two families stood by the front door saying goodbyes. Mr. Kirkland continued talking to Mr. Bonnefoy as Scott stood by diligently. Mrs. Bonnefoy began to say her byes to the rest of the Kirklands starting with Arthur.

She grabbed Arthur by the shoulders giving him a kiss on each cheek causing him to flush. "It was so nice seeing you again," She exclaimed. "Try not to grow so much more next time, little one," she said while running a hand back and forth in Arthur hair. He tried to hold back a scowl having just got his hair fixed from when she messed it up upon arrival. He tried to joke back with her and claimed it was nice seeing her, but his words felt stilted.

Mrs. Bonnefoy moved onto Walter who accepted her embrace loosely and relaxed, returning her energy with equal force. Arthur was distracted from watching the scene by a short, polite cough. He turned to face two amused, blue eyes.

"It was nice seeing you, Arthur. I barely remembered you after all these years." Francis spoke smoothly pushing a long strand of hair behind his ear. It was the first thing Arthur noticed when the Bonnefoys walked in - Francis had shaggy hair. It could have been feminine, but Arthur thought it fit Francis and liked how it looked on him.

Arthur smiled but tried to maintain formality that he had abandoned earlier when talking with Francis at dinner. "I feel the same. We must not let so much time pass next time."

Francis grinned. "I have a feeling we won't." Then, Francis leaned forward an embraced Arthur. This was not how gentlemen said goodbye. Proper gentleman shake hands; businessmen shake firmly, but less so with women. Arthur stood stiffly for a moment before returning the hug.

Arthur felt air tickle his cheek as Francis whispered, "Goodbye, Arthur." As quickly as Francis had moved forward, he stepped back giving Arthur one last smile before turning to say goodbye to the others. Walter got a handshake, not firm. Mrs. Kirkland got a gentle hug; Scott a handshake, firmness debatable. For Mr. Kirkland, Francis tried to stand straight and stiff to deliver a firm handshake, but it looked awkward coming from the boy. Arthur smiled to himself at the attempt.

Soon the Bonnefoy's were out the door and the Kirkland's were settling into their living area. Walter was sitting on the floor, a book on the table, trying to catch up on homework. Scott was reviewing notes, working ahead on his studies. Arthur was sitting in a chair reading a book, wishing it was a different book, one Francis had recommended during dinner.

Arthur thought back to their conversation. He had started the meal stiff, unsure on how to handle someone as different as Francis.

Francis didn't seem awkward, willingly leading conversations. "What do you like to do, Arthur?"

Arthur tried to shrug the question off with half answers or by claiming to enjoy activities Scott talked about, but Francis called him out and clarified, "but what do you _really_ enjoy."

"I like reading, and not just stories, sometimes philosophy," Arthur admitted honestly but added philosophy to sound more intellectual and mature.

Francis grinned. "What is you favorite book?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I always liked C.S. Louis, but I don't know if I would call his books my favorite. I have a nice copy I got as a gift, so I guess it's just special."

Francis was delighted by the answer, expressing so briefly before continuing, "Have you read Emily Bronte? I love Emily Bronte."

"No. Aren't those more for girls anyways," Arthur muttered trying not to be rude but feeling the need to repeat what he was taught.

"Why would you say that?" Francis scoffed, visibly offended.

Arthur put his hands up feigning surrender, "I just meant that the themes and stuff are more for girls. You know, aren't a lot of the books by those authors just romance anyways. Bronte writes stuff like_ Pride and Prejudice_. That's romance right? For girls?"

Francis smirked. "You are missing out and clearly illiterate." He took a bite from his meal looking satisfied.

"Excuse me!" Arthur exclaimed a little too loud for the current volume of the table. Luckily, Francis laughed and everyone's attention went back to where it was previously. "It's not funny to insult the host."

Francis's laugh lowered to a chuckle. "You aren't the host. Your parents are, so it doesn't count. Besides, if you think 'those books' are just dumb romance, then you don't understand them."

Arthur scrunched up his face in defiance.

"Unless you haven't read any?" Francis leaned forward as his question floated in the air to his neighbor.

Arthur shrugged. "I've just been told."

"Well, whoever said so must not understand art. I bet they don't read or even like artistic things. Probably hate expression." Francis's flippantly statement made Arthur chuckle at hearing such rude things said about his family. The funniest thing was that Francis wasn't wrong. Arthur had vivid memories of his dad complaining about some art gallery advertised in the newspaper and of his mom constantly expressing concern about some bands that play not too far away, well, the whole culture surrounding that kind of music. Arthur always believed them, especially since his brothers seemed to agree, but maybe they were a tad close minded about things considering the vast amount of things that were bad.

Arthur leaned into Francis and murmured, "You're not wrong," and then sat up and shot a look at his father who was sitting stiffly while listening to Mr. Bonnefoy talk expressively with both hands. His face was hard as if he actually did have something up his ass, something Walt said to Arthur last time their father berated him.

Francis grinned and his amusement shone in his eyes. Arthur watched his reaction with a smile.

"You need to read _Jane Eyre_. You'll love _Jane Eyre_."

"What makes you say that?"

"I can just tell," Francis said flippantly, "Plus, I have a copy that you can borrow that I bet could rival your Wardrobe one."

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow. "And you'd let me borrow it?"

"You could use it more. Besides, I am more of a _Pride and Prejudice_ kind of guy." He gave Arthur a teasing look. A light flush dusted Arthur's cheeks as the book he insulted by name was mentioned. A gentleman never openly insults a guest.

It had been a good conversation. The entire evening had been good, and Arthur really wanted to read Jane Eyre, but was determined to wait for Francis to give him his copy.

Arthur was jostled out of his memory by his parents returning to the room each with coffee. Mr. Kirkland sat on the couch with a groan.

Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "They always exhaust you, don't they?"

"You have no idea. Louis I can handle, but Joan is such a handful. No idea how he handles her all the time." Mrs. Kirkland chuckled. "She really is a strange woman." Mr. Kirkland grunted in agreement.

Scott spoke up. "What did you think of the kid?" He looked at Arthur, the person he was questioning whose head was still buried in his book. "Arthur?"

"Huh?"

"The kid. What did you think of him?"

"He was okay." Arthur said trying to stop a smile from forming. Francis was by far the most interesting person he had ever met, different in the best way possible and nothing like the kids Arthur was surrounded by at his private school or other family functions. Sometimes he was a little too comfortable in his skin, but it was still better than the elite stuffiness he was normally around.

Arthur's dad chuckled. "Always the kind one, son." Both brothers looked at their father. Scott looked back at Arthur continuing, "I feel bad for you having to talk to him all night."

"He wasn't that bad."

"Really?" Mr. Kirkland was intrigued.

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. "Surprised?"

"Extremely." Mr. Kirkland stated while his wife nodded in agreement. "Good that boy still has a chance to be normal I suppose, but with the way they let him act, not much of it."

Arthur stiffened. "Meaning?"

"It's the way his mother treats him, I think," Mrs. Kirkland suggested more to her husband than anyone else.

"Who knows, but it's a problem how feminine they let him be. The way he dresses, which I'm sure is some convoluted French thing they thought they could bring over, but also the hair? Much too feminine."

Scott suggested, "Maybe they wanted a girl? They sure let him prance around like one."

Walter glanced up from his book. "Isn't it ungentlemanly to make fun of cultural differences?"

Mrs. Kirkland responded seeing a potential argument forming between her two older sons. "I don't think it is quite a cultural difference. He acts more like his mother than father."

While his family debated what was wrong with Francis and how he was being raised, Arthur lowered himself in his chair and tried to distract himself with his book. He ignored the snide remarks about Francis's femininity and the praise his father gave him for being more of a man at such a young age. He disappeared into his novel wishing he could be reading _Jane Eyre_.

* * *

Arthur didn't see Francis for three weeks until the next family dinner. This time, the Bonnefoys came early. His father acted like it was to allow more time for the men to talk, but his disgruntled behavior led Arthur to believe it was the Bonnefoy's request.

The French family arrived in the late afternoon. This time, the Kirkland children were not standing in a line in their best attire waiting to greet their guests. They wore nice clothes, and still waited, but the air of this gathering was much more relaxed than in the past.

Mrs. Bonnefoy entered first giving each Kirkland a hug and dutifully messing up Arthur's hair. The other two followed in similar fashion. Soon the men, plus Scott, were moving into the sitting area. Mrs. Kirkland looked at the remaining boys, "Why don't you entertain yourselves, while I get dinner started?"

Before Arthur could respond, Mrs. Bonnefoy was already insisting to help. Mrs. Kirkland tried to refuse it, but it is near impossible to refuse a French woman on a mission. Besides, it would be rude to turn down a guest's request, even gentlewomen had rules to follow. Francis smirked at Arthur during the exchange. The women went into the kitchen, and Walter went upstairs to his room leaving the two youngest boys.

"My mom's entire mission today was to get into your kitchen."

"What?"

Francis leaned close to Arthur conspiratorially. "The English can't cook."

Arthur scoffed. "Excuse me?" Francis just laughed. "You've grown up eating it, but trust me. Just having my mom in the kitchen will make dinner better. Don't deny it until you eat tonight."

Arthur was dumbfounded. "Was that really why you came early?"

Francis winked and started walking towards the stairs. "Now, we have some free time, so please lead the way." He adjusted a shoulder bag Arthur hadn't noticed before and waved dramatically at the stairs. Arthur glanced into the sitting room where their dads were and made eye contact with Scott. "Uh… Okay."

He passed Francis and led the way up the stairs trying to ignore the way his new friend was carefully analyzing this new part of the house. The walls in the stairway were clean and bare - no pictures or knick knacks. The upstairs hallway was a similar state except for one picture in the gaps between each door.

"Was kind of hoping for some embarrassing kid Arthur stuff." Francis gestured to a stiff family portrait taken in front of the house that was hanging to the right of Arthur's room.

Arthur shrugged. "I've never been embarrassing." Francis snorted. "I guess we are still kids."

The two walked into Arthur's room. Arthur standing just inside the doorway. Francis walked past him and jolted his body onto the bed. The mattress shook and springs squeaked at the force. Arthur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Really?"

Francis grinned. "I am also disappointed by your room. Not that interesting, and this bed is uncomfortable."

Arthur sat down in his desk chair and shrugged, while Francis watched him intently. "I don't know what you were expecting. It's a bedroom."

"Not just a bedroom. _Your _bedroom." Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "And?"

Arms waved dramatically as Francis sat up with a huff. "_And_ that means this is your space. It means that this is where you can be yourself. I was hoping to be able to learn more about you. The real you, you know?"

Arthur hooked one foot behind his knee in a need to move. "Maybe it is the real me."

"Yeah, right." Arthur pursed his lips. He never thought about needing a place for self expression, but Francis may have a point. The walls in Arthur's room were mostly bare. Any poster or picture was not hung just because he liked it, but because he knew his parents would approve. His head turned as his looked around trying to imagine his room from Francis's point of view.

"I have to think of what my family thinks usually, but it's not like I don't have a space to be myself."

Blue eyes narrowed as they peered into Arthur's green ones, observing. Suddenly, Francis stood up from the bed and walked forward. Arthur leaned back in his chair thinking Francis was approaching him, but Francis went past him to the desk.

Papers shifted filling the silence, as Francis looked through the contents out on the desktop. Arthur watched his friend's face. Francis may have been looking at the desk, but it felt like he was looking straight into Arthur. Francis leaned close and Arthur held his breath for a brief moment before realizing Francis was leaning past him to grab something.

"Is this your Lion, Witch and Wardrobe book you spoke so highly of?" Francis spoke flippantly but handled the book with care. He opened the front cover and began to read the note inside before Arthur could snatch it away.

"You shouldn't just go through people's things like that!"

"Sorry."

Silence settled over them. Arthur let out a long breath.

"You can dig through the desk. I know you want to."

Francis grinned, and patted Arthur on the head reminiscent of the way Mrs. Bonnefoy was always messing up his hair. Unlike when Mrs. Bonnefoy did it, Arthur scowled.

Francis shuffled papers finding them mostly uninteresting. He gestured toward the drawers. Arthur nodded having given up any sense of privacy in the matter. Francis opened the second drawer from the top, and pulled out a worn composition book.

"Uh… maybe not that one," muttered Arthur weekly, raising on hand as if to grab the book. It was too late. Francis had already opened it and went to sit on the bed reading. Arthur closed his eyes. If he couldn't see what was happening, it wasn't happening. A boy was not sitting on his bed reading anything personal at all. Nope.

"You write?" Francis's soft voice caused Arthur to open his eyes and look at his friend. Francis's head was still looking down at the pages, but Arthur's skin itched at the attentive gaze.

"What the hell do you think your looking at?" Francis looked up with mischievous eyes. The pair of blue eyes sparkled like what foreigners must image the Thames to look like - Arthur was sure of it.

"I didn't expect you to write poetry." Arthur grumbled incoherently. "Much less good poetry."

"Are you some sort of poetry expert?" Francis ignored the question. "You have a lot going on in your head Arthur… And I plan to figure it all out." Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion; Francis dropped his gaze to the book Arthur was still clutching in his lap.

"I would like to request a trade!" Francis accented his statement by closing the book of poems. "The poetry doesn't leave this room." Arthur glared.

"Not what I was going to ask for." Francis held up one finger and began digging through his bag.

He pulled out a small book. "I believe I promised you this." Arthur couldn't suppress his smile at seeing the nicely bound version _Jane Eyre_, even though he didn't want the French boy to know how pleased he was.

"Now, I know I said I would give it to you but…"

"What do you want?"

"A chance to read that." Francis gestured at _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_. Arthur clutched it tighter.

"I don't know." Honesty was the best policy for a gentleman, well, unless you were working on a business deal. It was one of the rules that had too many layers for Arthur to keep straight when he just didn't care.

"I don't want to keep it or anything. I just want to read your favorite book, especially since I'm making you read one." Arthur nodded along. "Fine, but you have to bring it back next time I see you or I'll skin you alive." Francis grinned. "There's a bad boy under that gentleman. Isn't there, Arthur?"

"Just shut up and give me the book." Arthur demanded hoping his movements of swapping the books and sitting on the floor, back against the bed, would hide his blush.

A soft thud broke him out of his thoughts as Francis sat next him opening his borrowed book. He watched the French boy read Walt's note in the cover. Watching someone else's fingers trace the handwritten words did not make Arthur's skin crawl the way he thought it would. He turned to his own borrowed book, intent to figure out why Francis was so offended he hadn't read these kinds of books.

A soft cough interrupted the gentle cadence of page turning. Arthur looked up to see Walt leaning against the door frame with a soft look on his face. "Dinner is ready, boys. Time to head down."

Arthur closed _Jane Eyre_ and set the book on his bed. Grabbing the composition book that was still on his bed, he opened to a more recent page and ripped it out.

"Here." He thrust the page towards Francis who was still sitting on the floor. Francis grabbed the page slowly and went to read it. "It's for a bookmark. Mark you page, so we can head down."

Francis talked as he closed his book and packed it in his bag. "It's a poem."

"No shit." Francis's head shot up at the curse, eyes dancing in mirth just like before. Arthur crossed his arms and challenged, "Thought you were interested in them?"

"Very." Francis stood shouldering his bag. He gave Arthur a curious look. Arthur sighed. "You needed a bookmark, and you were interested in my stuff. It's not a big deal. You can read it later or toss it for all I care. I have tons that are just sitting in here not being read. Now, come on." Arthur walked out of the room heading for stairs, trying to ignore the bright, grinning face that followed him.

Dinner went by smoothly and quickly. Francis and Arthur spent most of the time talking about the first few chapters of their respected books. Arthur kept trying to steer the conversations away from Francis's questions about his writing habits. _Do you also write prose? You know if you write a lot of poetry, you could be a good musician? I wish I could write._ On and on. Luckily, he was able to distract his friend by commenting on how good the food was. Francis laughed. Francis had a great laugh - very French, but still pleasant on the ears.

Arthur blinked realizing he couldn't remember a word he just read and would have to start the page over. He sighed as he started again at the top. Although he wanted to read, his mind kept drifting to other things like the dinner party that happened earlier in the week. He only was able to get a few chapters in over the past few days, but was determined to finish it soon. Then, maybe he could reread it. It was going to be one of those kinds of books.

His concentration was broken by someone knocking on his door frame.

Walt leaned against the door. "No one is home." Arthur looked up unfazed. It was the middle of the afternoon and not surprising. "Okay."

Walt rolled his eyes. "Come on. Brother bonding time." Arthur remained on his bed, not quite understanding what he should be doing. Walt sighed and gestured dramatically with his arm. "Come. On. Follow."

"Fine. Fine." Walt waited for Arthur to reach the door before throwing an arm around his shoulders and steering him down the hall into his own room. He pushed Arthur to sit on the floor before going to dig in his closet.

Arthur looked around, not being one to barge into his older brother's room. Walt's bedroom was messier than Arthur's - some clothes on the floor with books, papers and spirals scattered. The desk was relatively organized. The spines of various science and biology books visible. The walls had bizarre art and posters that Arthur could never get away with hanging in his own room.

This room was something only Walt could pull off. Since he was young, Walt showed a proficiency for science, and grew to be obsessed with different animal sciences. Sometimes, he got leeway when it came to the rules because he had a crazy genius reputation - or that's what their parents thought, and parents can always find time to brag about how one of their sons is an eccentric genius. Arthur always wanted to hate him for it, but with the way Walt treated him, could never find the energy.

Walt emerged from the closet with a record player and one record.

"You know how to work it?"

"Not an idiot."

Walt grinned and rustled Arthur's hair. The arm retreated before Arthur could smack it away. "Put this on." Looking at the cover, Arthur was confused. It was Bach. Why was he in here to bond over Bach? The confusion dissipated when he took the record out, and realized it was not actually classical music. His brother was disguising records.

Beginning to set up the player, he glanced at his brother. Walt had part of his matress lifted and was reaching underneath it. Arthur held off from turning on the music to watch. Dropping the mattress, Walt sat beside Arthur with an oof holding another record. This one was not disguised; the cover colorful.

"Start the music up, Little Man. You're going to love this."

Needle in place, Arthur started the record and sat back next to his brother. A guitar riff filled the air between them followed by quick-paced drums. Arthur turned towards his brother just as the singer began doing some cross between singing, screaming and just talking.

"This isn't Bach." Walt laughed and pushed his brother shoulder. "No, it is not, but it is time you got to appreciate some culture."

The singer wailed on with the guitar.

"Culture?" According to everything Arthur knew, culture was white marble, string instruments, and fancy cheeses. The not quite rhythmic beats filling the room did not come to mind.

"Just because some rich old people hate it doesn't mean it isn't art. Besides, I can tell you'll like this stuff. Don't deny it." Walt's assertion made Arthur think of Francis, but the only thing he could think to say was, "Mom and Dad aren't that old." For a moment, Walt's laugh drowned out the music.

"Still, just because mom hates the punks nearby, doesn't mean we have to." He looked at Arthur who was watching the record spin. "You do like it, right?" Arthur smirked and nodded. For some reason, he did. "Good. I hate being wrong."

The two listened to the next few songs in silence, letting the experimental riffs be the only thing vibrating through the room. After flipping to the B-side, Walt started talking about the bands and similar music and anything Arthur wanted to know. Hours later, Walt was showing Arthur where he hides his records, in case Arthur ever wanted to borrow them.

Throughout that fall, Arthur would borrow them a lot when his family was out, or would sit on the floor and listen with his brother. They would talk about themselves and their interests. They reminisced on the one other joint family dinner that happened that fall, laughing at how uncomfortable their parents looked at some of the things the Bonnefoys did.

Walt took time to poke fun at Arthur and Francis's friendship, having seen Francis return _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe_ but let Arthur keep _Jane Eyre_. Arthur didn't share what Francis had said: "I told you a long time ago, you could keep it, remember? I said that you could use it more? Besides, if I need it, I'll just have to come over." Arthur didn't share everything when he sat with Walt, but his older brother always gave him the same knowing look.

Time passed. Family dinners continued every month or so, but halted during the holidays when the Bonnefoys went back to France and the Kirklands celebrated themselves.

Arthur's father gave him a book on law ethics. Arthur had been framing his interests in writing and philosophy better, and his family interpreted it as Arthur on the track to study law - something he was not interested in, but felt more comfortable pretending to be.

Walt's gift had been his favorite. Peeling off the wrapping paper, revealed a Mozart record that had already been opened. The night Arthur got to pull out the record from inside it's false cover to find Nevermind the Buzzcocks and a note from Walt explaining that he could use some more music education and a record collection of his own so he would stop raiding Walt's room.

The new year was going to be great - Arthur was sure of it. He was close to his brother. He had a friend in Francis. He felt like things were finally coming together. Maybe his life really was looking up - his piece morphing to fit in the puzzle around him.

* * *

A/N: Welcome back, friends! Most chapters will not be this long. Right now, I plan on updating no less than once a month. I have five chapters written, but want to get ahead because I might start a teaching certification program. There will be somewhere between 16 and 20 chapters depending on how long some scenes run.

If you haven't read The Boy with the Backpack, it's a good read, even if I think the beginning that I wrote when I was 14 is rough. I'm proud of the ending.

Let me know your thoughts and feelings. I don't know anyone who reads my stuff, so reviews really help me know if I'm going in the right direction and getting the things across that I want to.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Acknowledging Ungentlemanly Aspects of the Self

Time flew by once school picked up again. Arthur got lost in the schedule of things - chores, class, homework, occasional family dinners and chances to see Francis. Soon it was April and he was sixteen. Soon school and responsibilities were slowing down, and Arthur could catch a breath.

One Saturday, Francis and Arthur were walking around town together. After the Christmas holidays, they started finding time to hang out outside of family dinners - Francis's new house being near Arthur's. They didn't have the chance to do it often, but Francis always seemed willing when Arthur needed an escape from his overbearing family.

"Do you have any summer plans?" Francis asked. Arthur shrugged. "Not really. My dad used to make us all help around the office, just to kind of make an appearance, but he gave up on that for me. I have no idea if I'll have to do anything."

"You don't take any family trips?" Arthur grunted. "Not really. We aren't the bonding and wasting time kind of family."

Francis raised his brows. "Wasting time, really?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "You really need to catch on to what my family is like."

"British?" Francis said with a playful elbow to the side.

"More like pain in the ass."

"You should let them know," Francis joked.

"I will have given up the day I decide to do that."

Arthur went to walk ahead, but Francis grabbed him. "We should go in there?" Francis was gesturing to a storefront across the street. The store was a cross between some sort of Pagan artifacts store, the kind where they sell crystals and special books on wiccanism, and an average local bookstore. The windows were full of stacked books with questionable images, scatters potted plants, and ferns. Arthur was sure he could see a pentagram or two just from across the street.

"We are getting food," Arthur reminded Francis of their initial plans for the day. Francis scoffed. "What's the point of adventuring out of our part of town, if we aren't actually exploring?" The boys stared each other down. Blue eyes glanced away from green ones to look back at the store. "I know you secretly love that witch stuff. It's in all your favorite books. Let's just go look."

Arthur was still deciding when Francis grabbed his wrist and drug him up to the store and inside. A bell jingled and incense filled both of their noses. Arthur looked to the side and eyed a pillar filled with pins and buttons for sale. They had various slogans in small font, some had different colored stripes that Arthur had a vague idea about but not the actual meanings, and a few had pink triangles. Arthur's stomach began to knot.

"...Francis?" He couldn't be caught somewhere like this. Francis turned to meet Arthur's eyes in question, but they didn't get the chance to say more before a woman came up to greet them.

"Hello! Can I help you with anything?" Her long skirt rustled as she walked up. Short, boyish hair unmoving on her head. Despite her dark makeup, a grin brightened her face.

"We were walking by and decided to look at your book collection. It seemed like you have a lot of… unique stuff we might be interested in." Francis spoke smoothly, ever confident.

She laughed and gestured at the shelves and tables overflowing with books. "Well, you came to the right place." Arthur looked around getting more and more unsure. This place was for the kind of people Arthur's family ranted about constantly. "Yeah…"

"We have a lot of diverse sections, so just look at the colored labels on the shelves. I can always point you in the right direction to find things you might be interested in."

Francis smiled sweetly. "We would love some direction. Take a guess at what we'd want. First impressions can always be telling, and you know your collection." She pursed her lips and hummed looking at the two of them. Her eyes lingered on their hands - Francis still holding Arthur's wrist who snatched it back the moment he realized it. Despite that, the two young boys stood close together feeling her gaze - one curiously and one uncomfortably. Arthur shifted. Her eyes pierced into his skin straight to his bones.

She clapped. "Well, you'll obviously have drastically different tastes, I'll point out a few areas!" She gestured to the back. "We have some of the classics over in the corner - you know, for the fancy literature types." Francis elbowed Arthur jokingly. "Next to it, we have some books on history and stuff on pagan practices and traditions - those section blend a little what with the sub-sections - so read the labels."

She looked at them again with a tilt of her head. "We have a lot of theory, but you boys don't seem the type…" She pursed her lips looking at the small space between them. "Oh! We have great fiction! Over there we have lots of Gay Fiction you can't find in most other stores."

Francis seemed interested, as he considered the large wall she was pointing to. Arthur flushed hotly, and grabbed Francis's wrist. "Thanks, but we're good." His words were spoken loudly and at an unnatural cadence. He stared at the ground as he passed the women and pulled Francis towards where the fancy literature was.

Once in the corner, Francis turned a concerned eye onto Arthur. "Are you okay?" Arthur pretended to be reading book titles. His shoulders were stiff, lips pressed together tightly making them white. He ran a hand through his hair to calm himself. "I shouldn't have let you bring me in here."

"Why? It's just a bookstore."

"Are you daft?" Arthur was able to contain himself and only let out his words in a whispered yell. Francis held his hands up in mock surrender. Arthur groaned. "I don't know what shit your family allows, but my family and the people I associate with would want to burn me alive for supporting this shit."

"You're overreacting."

"It's sinful and disgusting and unnatural and…" Arthur huffed and started to run his hands along the spines of the books in front of him treading into the sections on paganism and witchcraft.

"It's a bookstore. The lady was nice. It's nice." Francis held himself straight, voice steady.

Arthur slumped. "It's a fucking fag bookstore and you know it." He was looking down at his shoes, hand still on the shelved books. "I can't be here supporting this and these people."

"Why?"

Arthur growled. "I told you! It's - " Francis grabbed his shoulder, jostling his friend into looking up. "Is that you talking, or your dad?" Although they were roughly the same height, Arthur felt small under Francis's gaze. Words would not escape his throat. His brain could not arrange letters to form a response.

Francis sighed. "We came here to look at books and enjoy ourselves. Let's get yourself a slightly controversial witchy book, and get our lunch."

Neither boy said anything as they browsed the books. Arthur was only half paying attention to what he was looking at.

"Does it really not bug you?" Francis just raised one challenging eyebrow in response. "You don't care about what people - what your family will think?"

Francis took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I always thought your family was the anomaly, but maybe it's mine."

"Francis, I don't understand." A small smile hung on Francis's face. The sad blue eyes made Arthur feel pitied and young.

"I don't know what my family thinks." Arthur was barely able to stop his jaw from dropping in shock. "They aren't as obsessed with molding me as much as your family is. My mom wants me to form opinions and make mistakes and experiment with expression to form my own ideas. My dad is just a hands-off parent." Francis shrugged. "I've never had to consider what they and other people thought as much. I mean, yeah, they give me advice to follow, but when I suck at the business stuff, it's considered something Francis just doesn't have a talent for. The box I have to fit myself into is very large, so I just don't think about it."

Different emotions swirled in Arthur mixing and morphing. Red rage and green jealousy were subdued by a navy blue sadness. A discolored shock and surprise contained all the fighting colors inside. Unable to find one emotion to win, Arthur looked at the large book in Francis's hands and grabbed the tome.

"I think I'll get this one."

At the register, the woman from before looked at them gently. Her smile and tone was just as bright and welcoming but instead of mimicking harsh sunlight, it felt like soft lamplight on a rainy sunday afternoon. Her eyes looked at them knowingly, not pitying, but with an empathy Arthur didn't want to acknowledge or understand. She offered him a free pin or bookmark. Ignoring the multi-colored striped and logo pins, Arthur grabbed the first bookmark he saw. He only subtly acknowledged what the clerk said about always being welcome and upcoming clubs and events, denying a flyer. Francis took and pocketed it himself giving her a sincere thanks.

They did not discuss the bookstore at lunch, only flipping through the book Arthur bought.

* * *

A few days later, Arthur was sitting at his desk reading his new book to himself, lost in interest, absorbing the new ideas about the world. Knocking intruded on the quiet of Arthur's room, but he did not notice, lost in printed words. The door opened causing Arthur to jump. Slamming his book closed, he pushed it away and grabbed a notebook from the corner of his desk.

Arthur's father stood in the now open doorway, a smile on his face at surprising his youngest son.

"I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute."

Arthur eyed his "witchy book" as Francis called it, noting that the spine was turned away from the door. "Sure, Dad. What do you need?"

"I am going on a business trip out of the country for a week." He walked to the bed and sat on the corner. Arthur turned in his chair to face his dad, knowing that this was going to be a long conversation, as his father began to talk about the purpose of the trip and all it entailed. Arthur began to zone out when he dad said something interesting. "But that isn't why I came to talk to you. I thought you might be interested in coming along."

Arthur startled. His dad smiled. Arthur tried to hide his confusion when speaking. "No offense, but why?"

His dad laughed. "I know it's not exactly what you are interested in, but, remember when I said part of the trip was to meet a contracted lawyer for the company? Well, he studied classics and literature in school. I thought you might like to talk to him. Someone successful with your interests. I know we can only follow along so much.

"I think it's a good opportunity to explore your interests. I know you'll be there the rest of the time, but I'm sure there are museums and preserved libraries that can entertain you when you can't or don't want to come with me."

Arthur nodded along to what his father was saying, genuinely surprised. His dad was not only accepting his interests, albeit in his own way, but trying to connect. It was still a few weeks away though. "I don't know."

Arthur's father sighed, "Arthur, it's important that you think of what you can do in life with your talents and to surround yourself by people who are successful in things you can be successful in." Seeing the look on Arthur's face, his dad defended, "Look. Walt always was sent to camps for science and is shadowing that professor who's doing research. Scott is, well..." Arthur finished for his father, "Scott is Scott."

"Yes. Think about it, Arthur. We want you to be able to explore and do what you love, but still be successful. These are the kinds of things you need to do to put you on the right path. It will not be all work - you can spend partof the week talking with someone who is an expert at things you like and exploring the city."

"Okay," Arthur conceded. He liked how much his dad was trying to understand him. He even liked how his dad was trying to steer him in the right direction, a show of caring the same way he cared for his other sons. In that moment, it was easy to focus on how his dad tried to educated him on what a good, moral person was and less on how he berated things Arthur liked.

His dad patted him on the shoulder and walk out of the room. Arthur leaned back in the chair and eyed the book Francis got him to buy. Despite the entire fiasco, he was enjoying the book, but he was over everything that happened and the conversation with his dad helped Arthur feel steadfast in his opinion. Sticking with his convictions and hanging out with Francis seemed to be incompatible.

Arthur could only avoid Francis for so long. The weeks following their bookstore trip he tried to see as little as Francis as possible, occasionally picking fights with the other, but, somehow, they still found themselves hanging out together. It was likely because Arthur had no other actual friends. There were people he talked to and sat with at school, but no one else he saw outside of school besides family.

The older he got, the more he felt the growing rift between him and his family. Something made him different - an inherent inability to fit in he supposed, not at school and not at home. He hated not being able to have a place to belong, all the differences about him only separated him from the world around him. All the books in the world couldn't give him the comfort of belonging - the fantasy worlds only offering a brief escapism from the problems of his life.

Sometimes his skin didn't feel like his own. He would sit with his family following all the gentlemanly protocols and feel himself watching the interactions from outside his body with a scowl. None of it ever felt right, but it was the most right it could be.

As much as Francis' eccentricities caused him discomfort and as much as his family secretly berated Francis' flamboyant nature, Arthur was drawn to him. Walt could only give so much comfort as a friend. Being family, Arthur always felt like Walt's caring nature came as an obligation. The weight of supposed responsibility lingered on their interactions half the time. Francis was different - different from Arthur's family, different from the people around them, and different in that he seemed to be interested in being around Arthur.

Arthur really should apologize for calling Francis a French Wanker last week.

He sighed and leaned back on his bed, the shirt and sweater he was considering putting on forgotten as he let his bare skin touch the cool comforter. Francis just knew how to get under his skin. He always challenged Arthur's beliefs and started debates, but did so with such a caring intention. It irked Arthur that some French kid could pretend to know him better than himself. What a frog. Not too mention he always sat a little too close and felt a little too handsy, but that's just how the French are or that's what Arthur made himself believe, since he didn't personally know any other French people.

As much as he wanted to stand by his assertion of Francis as slimy and odd, something a gentleman should never be around, Arthur did in fact miss him. He hated the feeling he got inside every time he caused a hurt expression to form on Francis's face, blue eyes such breakable glass. Arthur was always kind-hearted according to his mother.

He was getting a chance to get passed their most recent argument tonight at another joint-family dinner.

Arthur was lucky Francis could be so forgiving, because he never had to give a proper apology, despite the gentlemanly voice inside him berating him. Once he saw the Bonnefoys walk in, he was filled with annoyance the same as when he last told Francis off. Watching the way Francis could just be and how his family not only accepted it, but allowed it in times like this. The way Francis could wear a blue cape-thing, a real god damned blue, not even navy, have his hair long and tied back with a ribbon, and own it fully got under Arthur's skin in an unbearable way.

At this point, the gatherings had been going on long enough, that formal introductions were unnecessary. Everyone greeted and then split up. Francis smiled brightly at Arthur who forced a scowl, denying how contagious the smile felt in his stomach. Francis almost went for a hug, but held himself back instead teasing, "Oh, Artie, you really should work on that attitude. It's not very welcoming."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Whatever." He gestured for Francis to follow and led the way to the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, they were intercepted by Scott who was walking towards the kitchen. He gave a barely suppressed sneer at Francis before acknowledging Arthur hissing, "Might want to keep the door open with this one around." With that one statement, he gave Arthur an intense look and then continued onto the kitchen, ignoring the glare Francis was giving him.

Frozen, Arthur stood for a moment looking at the floor. Once composed, he stated, "Come on," and began up the stairs. They entered the room silently. Francis threw himself on the bed as per usual. Arthur sat in this desk chair, spinning slowly looking up. The door was left open.

"Scott is an asshole," Francis stated.

"You get used to it," Arthur replied absently.

"Doubtful." Arthur only let out an amused breath in acknowledgement. Francis continued, "No use lying to me, you know."

Finally, Arthur tilted his head to look at Francis who laid comfortably in the bed. "You don't know me that well."

"I'm getting there." Francis shot him a grin and rolled to sit up.

Mimicking Francis, Arthur responded, "Doubtful."

"Ha ha. The british are so funny what with their humor and their most famous comedian Arthur Kirkland," Francis mocked applause, "Congratulations."

Arthur stood up and walked to the bed to slap at Francis's hands to get him to stop. "Shut up, Frog." He sat on the bed next to Francis who rolled his eyes at the insult.

"Besides, you only think you know me well because you read some poems and my favorite book."

Francis hummed, "You know that's not true."

Arthur raised one impressive eyebrow. "You're a mind reader now?"

"Arthur Kirkland you have many masks, and I just happened to be the person who got you to take off a few. Not quite mind reading." They stared at each other. Amusement shown on Francis' face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Arthur's face held a much more serious expression. After a moment, Francis's face matched Arthur's.

"And what do you see?" The question caused Francis's eyes to turn sad in the way Arthur hated.

"Lots." Francis crawled back so that he could lean his back against the wall instead of sitting on edge of the bed.

"You're wearing shoes on my bed."

"I highly doubt you care that much." Arthur nodded and moved to sit next to Francis.

After a moment, Francis admitted, "I don't know you perfectly at all. You confuse me a lot still. I just know enough for… well, I know enough."

"I'm British. I'm pretty plain and straightforward."

"Ah, there we go with the lies again, and I thought the French were supposed to be the dramatic ones."

"You're the one avoiding saying something you obviously want to say."

Francis blurted, "I'm sorry about your family."

The admission made Arthur hold any retort he was preparing. Instead of acknowledging what he thought Francis could mean, he denied, "Nothing wrong with my family."

"I'm sorry you can't be yourself around them."

Arthur looked at his hands, the anger from earlier threatening to rise in him due to his frustration. How dare Francis of all people try to say these things to him.

"Sometimes rules are good and help. Having people there to guide you in what's right is good. It's just something you don't understand because your family lets you run around like a crazy person."

Francis pursed his lips in thought. "Still. I wish you could be yourself more openly."

"I get to be the most important aspects of myself openly." Now, Francis looked like he ate something sour.

"You think that?"

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah. You're just irked because your a romantic about everything." Their eyes met, and they stared at each other's faces intently, both looking for something different. Francis broke eye contact to look down as he grabbed Arthur's wrist. He murmured, "I'd like to see you happy."

The words hung in the air as he sat frozen. Everything about the conversation seemed beyond him, and the last statement knocked him hard in the chest. No one was ever that sincere about his own happiness. He looked down at Francis' hand on him, then up at Francis' face who stared back at him. Arthur was reminded of how easy it could be to get lost in the blue. He was broken out of his trance by the feel of Francis shifting on the bed.

Arthur took his hand back and jolted out of the bed and plopped in the desk chair spinning slightly. Francis blinked - one moment a boy sitting closely and the next moment the boy was across the room fidgeting in a chair. Despite the change, Francis smirked.

Leaning back to stare at the ceiling, Arthur sputtered, "So, do you know any other good books to read? A guy can only read Jane Eyre so many times." Francis' smirk turned into a grin, and the two talked about different books until they were called down for dinner.

Dinner was oddly loud for once, with chatter traveling across the table about how the Bonneyfoys would spend the next part of their summer in France. Arthur didn't mind how the conversation was being controlled - it meant he could sit silently for once and observe. His eyes kept wandering to Francis throughout the dinner whenever Francis seemed occupied with someone else.

He liked looking at Francis. The new way he had been tying his hair back looked good, despite how feminine it was. A lot about Francis seemed feminine to Arthur and the rest of the Kirklands for that matter, but instead of being put off like the rest of his family, Arthur was drawn to it. Well, more so that he was drawn to Francis himself. He couldn't help it. Arthur's thoughts drifted to aspects of Francis: the way his emotions showed themselves so vividly in his eyes, the way his body moved when he talked, the way he looked so comfortable sprawled out on the bed.

Arthur looked down at his plate quickly and took a bite. He snuck a quick glance at Francis, who was laughing at something Walt had said. Arthur shifted uncomfortably. A tight feeling spread through his chest as his watched mirth expel from Francis's face and eyes.

Shit.

Arthur tried to do some introspection at the table, avoiding participating in conversations by taking well-timed bites of food. He thought back on every interaction, on the things he noticed most about Francis, about the things he wanted. Arthur wasn't an idiot. He never had the crushes on girls growing up that his brothers did, but he always thought he could avoid thinking about it. If he avoided the topic, maybe everything would fall into place as it should. He had no plans to give into those kinds of urges. The phase would pass, and Arthur could get himself a girlfriend by the end of the year maybe.

Francis was breaking down the foundation of Arthur's plans. Why did he have to be so intense and talk about caring about Arthur's happiness? Maybe he could keep ignoring it and stay on his mental path to be the businessman's gentleman son he had sworn himself to be.

Chewing slowly, Arthur thought back to the feeling of Francis's hand on his wrist. It felt right. It felt like not enough.

God dammit.

He could not have a crush on Francis of all people.

* * *

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading! I appreciate the comments. I realized not everyone has DMs open, so I'll just say here that they meant a lot and gave me tons of writing energy.

I'm feeling really good about everything I have written so far and what I have planned.

I hope you guys enjoyed this one. Let me know your thoughts, feeling, predictions, anything.

See ya'll soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Gentleman's Philosophy on Morality and Sacrifice

The two weeks before the business trip with his father passed slowly. Arthur spent a lot of time out of the house, avoiding Francis. He was annoyed at Francis and his seemingly perfect life and wanted to berate him, but he also cared about his opinion and wanted to make him happy. Like how Walt didn't like to be wrong, Arthur didn't like being confused or caught off guard - being controlling was a Kirkland trait it seemed.

The few times he gave in and saw Francis or couldn't avoid him easily, Arthur was short and picked fights. For some reason Arthur had yet to understand, Francis kept coming back despite Arthur's rude demeanor and tendency to call him names - nothing too bad, his favorite being telling Francis that he was slimy like a frog.

He had hoped distancing himself from Francis would help him forget about any urges or tendencies he had would rather not have. He quickly realized the little crush he was forming was like a damn bursting, and it became harder and harder to ignore the parts of him that were so easy to in the past. For once, he was excited to spend time with his father and was hoping that a trip out of the country could put his head back on right. At least Scott was tagging along and there was a chance that it wouldn't be completely boring. Or not.

The trip itself was as much as a bore as Arthur originally expected. Luckily, he packed some books and his notebook for writing - what a better place to write than a new one. His father embraced Arthur's quiet nature as he carted him along, immersing himself in the idea that his son was a budding intellectual that would make the family proud.

Arthur buried himself in books embracing his new identity wholeheartedly except for when he talked with the two people he promised his dad he would meet with. Although the meetings were brief and stilted, lots of lecturing at him from his perspective, their words stuck with him and set him down new mental paths.

On the second day abroad, Arthur was required to meet the companies contracted lawyer, Bash, at a cafe near the hotel. When Arthur was given directions about where to go, how to act, and who he was meeting with the night before he scowled, despite all attempts to be respectful towards his father and his father's wishes. Working with the Swiss always felt weird, but at least the company was working with a lawyer and not banks.

The meeting itself went better than what Arthur expected. Although his dad told him to prepare questions about Bash's job and experience, he never came up with anything, hoping that arriving early would give him the chance to think of something.

Luck never seemed to be in Arthur's favor these days. Walking into the small, tucked away cafe, he made eye contact with a scowling blond man, who immediately stood to greet Arthur.

"You must be Arthur," Bash stated putting a hand out for Arthur to shake.

"And you must be Bash. Nice to meet you." Arthur took his hand noting the almost too tight handshake. Normally, he'd consider such an overtight handshake suspicious and overcompensating, but maybe such a handshake was needed to establish dominance when one looked as young as Bash. The Swiss man could not have been much older than Scott if at all, but his presence held the age of Arthur's father.

Arthur got himself tea as he settled in for what he expected to be a long afternoon. Any time spent with someone similar to his father was bound to exhaust him. They spent a while talking in pleasantries; then, switched to talking about Bash getting to where he is. Arthur was right - he was as young as he looked. Arthur's tea was empty, but he continued to fiddle with the cup while Bash's second cup of coffee was finished and forgotten.

Bash leaned back and peered at Arthur, taking in the young boy in front of him. "You need to have conviction."

Arthur furrowed his brow at the shift in conversation to advice. "Conviction?"

Bash crossed his arms and nodded a few times, still looking at Arthur intently. Arthur spun his empty cup between his fingers, maintaining the itch-inducing eye-contact.

"Every person needs to have values they stick with. Your father is a good man, and I'm sure your family is teaching you about worthy values, but you need to have you own convictions that guide your decisions."

"You're talking about morality?"

Bash scoffed. "I'm a lawyer, not a philosopher." He shifted his weight into a more relaxed manner. "You need to decide what will form all your choices. For example, my family always comes first. I would gladly go against other agreements and people for my sister. No one messes with her.

"Other people have flimsier convictions and values. Sometimes it's hippeeish like being nice to all or doing what you want always, but the most successful people have their own stronger convictions. I suppose it can be like forming a morality for yourself in a way if that is easier to think of.

"The point is, you have to come up with what are basically rules for how you act and make decisions. Then, when you are tempted to do selfish things or make wrong decisions, you fall back on your rules. You learn the world isn't always about yourself that way. You sacrifice things that would be in your own favor for something greater - in my case family."

Arthur nodded along, but he gripped his cup tightly. If he, like Bash, were to put family first and family values first, there was a lot he would have to give up. Sure Bash was just talking about how he makes decisions based on what was right for his sister, but Arthur could make decision based on Kirkland values. He wasn't satisfied, but understood what Bash meant about being selfish and flimsy convictions making a weak man. He thought about the rules he grew up with, and then thought about Francis' family.

Annoyance filled him. Sometimes it was hard not to be jealous of how easy Francis had it compared to him. His family was so different, and he never had to sit in conversations like the one Arthur was having - telling him to sacrifice his own happiness for some greater familial good and that doing so would be more moral or some shit. Yet, maybe that was what made Arthur better. He would be more equipped for the real world, more moral, more successful. At least that's what Arthur decided to settle on. It was much better than the other options.

He found an opening to end the conversation with Bash and leave. There wasn't much else to learn from the Swiss man. With one last tight handshake and a reminder to remember the conversation, Arthur was on his way back to the hotel room and Bash had turned to get his sister before leaving.

When he got back to the room, his father was gone, but Scott was there. Arthur was initially annoyed when he found out Scott also wanted to come on the trip, but so far he served as a good buffer between Arthur and their father. Sometimes it was nice to be able to sink into the background while the others talked. It gave him more time to think and brainstorm and write.

Scott stood quickly and walked to a chair from where he had previously been by their suitcases.

"How was your meeting thing?" Scott asked quickly.

Arthur considered his brother's behavior. "Okay."

"Only okay?"

"I don't think you'd find much of it interesting."

Scott nodded acknowledging Arthur's correct assessment. "Did you at least learn anything? Get something out of it?"

"Actually yeah. He gave me some good life advice." Arthur sighed when Scott gestured to continue. At his brother's insistence, Arthur summarized Bash's advice.

Scott hummed, "So convictions."

"Yeah, and, I mean, we grew up with a lot of them."

"You gonna pick and choose?" Scott asked, looking past Arthur at their luggage.

Arthur furrowed his brow. "Pick and choose?"

"You know, like decide what is the most important to form your decisions or just pick a few to follow in general."

"I hadn't thought that far into it."

"Well, some older brother advice, mom and dad have been great at teaching a proper moral compass and how to be acceptable. I think it's best to stick with that." Scott looked straight at Arthur. His words were spoken in a way that felt like there was more meaning to them than given. Arthur for the life of him couldn't figure it out, but his skin itched as if his brother was peering into him at all his secrets and did not like what he saw.

"Never doubted it," Arthur lied.

Scott continued to look at Arthur. "Really?"

Arthur paused briefly then went to sit on the bed. "Yeah, why?"

"You're writing seems to tell a different story."

"What writing?" Arthur spoke too quickly.

Scott rolled his eyes and gestured to their suitcases. "No one is an idiot. We see you scribbling in those notebooks all the time. But poetry? Arthur come on." He went to sit on the edge of the bed next to his brother who stiffened.

"Nothing wrong with poetry. A lot of great Englishman wrote poetry."

"That's - That's not what I meant, little brother," Arthur felt just as small as the pet name sounded. "I mean, I will never get the appeal of poetry and get that you're quirky with all your alternative interests," Arthur winced at the phrase, "but after looking at some of it, you might be getting too alternative?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Scott sighed. "Look, I'm not mad about anything, and I know we don't always get along, but I'm your older brother, and I care a lot about you." When Arthur didn't respond, Scott continued, "You've seemed more distant lately, and I wanted to see if I could figure out what was wrong."

"Scott, you don't even like reading, and you want to analyze my amateur shit?" Arthur accused.

"I'm not an idiot. Also, the bits of the fantasy story thing you have in there were interesting, and that's coming from me. It's just some of the poems you have are a little… questionable."

"Questionable?" Arthur was going to make Scott say anything on his mind. If he wanted this confrontation, he was going to have to do it all the way.

"Come on, Artie."

"I really don't understand. You're going to have to spell it out," Arthur pushed.

"You seem unhappy in a lot of it."

"I'm sixteen." Arthur raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Scott raised in hands in defense. "And I am not one to call out typical teenage angst… Some of them still..."

"Scott, if a poem is confusing you, you just need to read more often."

"Fucking," Scott growled and ran a hand through his hair in attempt to maintain his composure. "Okay, fine, you have a long poem about some pretty boy, and don't lie to me, I know what pronouns are."

Arthur froze. Well fuck. "I don't remember which one that is. Remember anything else about it?" Feigning forgetfulness may not be the best thing considering it was a pretty detailed, lengthy thing about urges and forbidden love and a confident man who changed the world around him. Wow, maybe Arthur needed to be called out for writing like a love-stricken puppy. At least Scott wasn't quoting things he wrote about the family and not being able to fit in, or God-forbid anything inspired by what Francis told him, especially since it inspired tons of angsty shit about familial responsibility and being a black sheep.

Scott was scrutinizing Arthur. "How do you not remember? You wrote it?"

Arthur shrugged, putting sixteen years of pretending into one solo performance. "There's a couple of notebooks in there full of stuff, and even more at home. Only some of it is actual effort. I do a lot of exercises, you know, emulating other famous poets and poems, testing different techniques, and stuff like that. I'm not going to remember it all."

Scott nodded along to Arthur's words, falling for the lie. "Exercises?"

"You know, I'll take a poem by any famous poet and redo it or change the setting or style, or I'll just take a famous poem and change the point of view. Normal stuff."

"Normal…" Scott's chuckle turned into a sigh. "Sometimes, I can be an idiot."

"You don't have to tell me that." Scott smacked Arthur's arm.

"I was just worried you were going through some shit and getting confused."

"Like I said, I'm sixteen. I'm totally going through shit."

Scott smiled at the joke. "Well, if you ever want help. I'm around."

"No offense…"

"Hey, I'm great help." Arthur didn't meet his brother's eyes. "Okay, I shouldn't have gone through your stuff, but you gotta admit something has been up with you, and Francis has been around."

"What about Francis?"

"Really?"

Arthur shrugged regretting his question.

"The guy is a flaming queer. It could rub off on you. For a second, I thought he did something to you."

"No one's done anything to me."

"Well, then you need to work on your game and get yourself a girlfriend." Arthur didn't laugh at the joke although Scott grinned as if he did. "I was worried you were questioning yourself. Girly guys like that can do that to you, you know. It happens."

"Happen to you?"

"To Walt."

"What?" Arthur gaped.

"Don't tell him I told you this, but it's important, okay?" Arthur nodded, not knowing if he could find his voice. "A long time ago when all of us were younger, Walt came into my room saying he wanted to talk but not to mom or dad. He started talking about all this crazy stuff about how he liked this girl Claire but also was attracted to this other boy in his class and he was thinking that he might like the boy more and stuff. He was only a little younger than you, and was really confused by the whole thing. The guy actually thought he had a crush on a guy from his class.

"I told him he could get over it, but he wasn't too sure. I convinced him to tell mom and dad. It was a whole thing. In the end, they helped him get over it, and he didn't have to do too much. They know he's a little quirky, and let him be quirky, but encouraged him to pull back on some other interests that were influencing him wrong. Instead, they got him to put that energy towards productive things like science, and it's done great things for him.

"You were too young to remember, but there were tons of really long conversations about it. He was adamant things couldn't change at first, but mom and dad laid out all the consequences of his options. I mean think about it: he used to like Claire but was starting to like some boy in his class more. They laid it out for him all the trouble that comes with same sex stuff - the way the world treats you, the moral implications, the possibility of disease, and the way its career sacrifice like who would hire someone like that?

"Everyone knew it would be hard to get passed, but it's possible. I mean Walt has dated a couple of really nice girls and is heading towards a great career as an animal scientists. He would have never been taken seriously if he went down the wrong path there. He was just lucky mom and dad had the patience to walk him through it, a lot of parents don't."

Arthur sat very still absorbing the information… or just attempting to. It was a lot to take in at once. How does someone go from feeling trapped and alone to knowing that someone in his family went through something similar, but seemed to be over it?

Scott watched Arthur take in the information intently. "What I think really helped him was reminding himself of everything you can't do when you are like that. Not only is it dangerous, wrong, and harmful to your career, but no relationship like that could ever be normal. You can't have kids or a family when you are older, and if you let yourself go to far, what girl would want you knowing you have that kind of past, you know?"

Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat. "Yeah." He never really thought that far into his future. It was as if the future was non-existent for him. After so much trouble, it seemed best to image that he had no future at all and would never grow up. He hated the idea that all the decisions he was making now, would affect his future in ways that could never be mended. He never thought about having kids - he was a shitty one and would hate a kid like him, but sometimes he thought about how he could be a better parent than his and really help a kid and their friends… but maybe not.

A hand on his shoulder, took him out of his thoughts. Scott squeezed his shoulder briefly and gave him an encouraging smile. "I know it's a lot, but I thought it would be a good example of sticking to a conviction like Bash said. It also is a story that shows how family can help, you know?"

Arthur nodded silently, squeezing his hands together to prevent them from shaking.

"I wanted you know that although everyone may seem perfect, we are far from it. Everyone has issues they have to deal with and get over. No family is perfect, and everyone has to help each other."

"No, its umm, it was helpful. Just a lot to take in at once. I'm going to uh going to shower."

"Okay, just remember, everyone feels like they don't fit sometimes."

"Yeah, I just need a second to think," Arthur spoke while getting up trying to hide the breathlessness in his voice. Scott nodded in understanding.

He grabbed his clothes and went into the bathroom quickly attempting to look as put together as possible. With the door closed behind him, he leaned against it and pulled harshly at his hair biting his lip hard.

Gasping, he pushed himself to the counter trying to control himself. Breathing loud and steady, he looked up to face himself in the mirror. His skin was blotchy and eyes watery, wide, and panicked. His hair stood up awkwardly at where he bunched and pulled it. His arms trembled, muscles jumping under his skin in a morse code pattern telling him to run. His jaw twitched as he whispered to his reflection, "You can do it. If Walt did it, you can do it too." He clenched his jaw and let a tear escape. "No one knows. It's okay. No one knows."

His glare pierced his own skin. He hated himself. God, he hated himself. He pushed himself off the counter, turned on the shower and paced trying to expel the panic-induced energy. It was not fair. Everyone had it so easy compared to him. How did Walt get over it so easily? Arthur had been trying forever and it only made him feel worse.

Jitters ran through his body, pent up energy rushing under his skin yelling at him to run and escape - something he couldn't do. Wiping his head around the room, he grabbed a towel and pushed his face into the rough surface.

Screams became died muffles into the fabric as he let gravity pull him down to the floor, chest trembling at the exertion. He briefly lifted his reddened face from the towel catching his breath.

Scott had so read more than just a crappy love poem.

* * *

A/N: Yay! New chapter! I'm really excited about some upcoming stuff I have written.

Also, I have the flu and am missing a full week of work without pay, so trying to figure out my new money woes while healing and dealing with other problems will slow down my writing (I have up to chapter 6 written but this is supposed to be between 15 and 20 chapters, so we will see how much it affects the update schedule). Sorry guys.


	4. Chapter 4

_CHAPTER 4: A Gentleman's Return and Subsequent Decline Part 1_

Coming home after any trip is always bizarre. Hairs stand at alert at the discomfort entering a room, feeling as if something has been disturbed. The feeling of being a stranger in your own home is the worst, and it can't be helped when returning after having been gone. Dust has settled on everything, but nothing seems as you left it. You enter as an alien in a strange place - not much of a foreign feeling for Arthur in this house.

Arthur sighed as he dumped his bag on his bed feeling all the disjointed feelings associated with returning home. Oddly, the feelings did not seem new, and the familiarity of them sat heavy in his stomach. He could fix it though. Slowly and surely, he was finding his place. He mentally leaned on his conversation with Bash and the importance of having values above yourself. Arthur was not a selfish person.

Despite how it started, the second half of the trip was not as bad as it could have been. After Arthur's first breakdown, it became obvious that Scott mostly read stuff that made him think Arthur felt like he didn't fit in with his family and had all kinds of issues with them. Poems and prose exploring that existed all over the notebook, but Arthur honestly felt like it was hidden behind enough fantasy and metaphor.

Apparently, he was not as great of a writer as he thought, because Scott saw right through it and decided the rest of the trip was a great time to bond with his youngest brother. The thought was in the right place, but Arthur only had enough energy to pretend to be the average man's man with Scott for so long. At least, it seemed like Scott hadn't told their dad anything about it. Maybe he thought it was better for brotherly bonding to keep it between themselves, that they would become closer that way. Arthur supposed he should count the tiny blessings. Besides, his time talking with Bash and Scott did teach him a lot and help him get his head on straight. It was what he wanted from the trip after all.

Grabbing clothes from the bag, he began to unpack. He barely dented organizing his clothes, when Mrs. Kirkland called from downstairs.

"Arthur! You have a visitor." The voice was accompanying by the banging of someone jogging up the stairs. Arthur sighed and stood in his doorway - the stomping could only be one person.

Any greeting he was going to say was cut off by a tight hug. "Arthur! You have returned!" Francis exclaimed with false dramatics. Arthur did not return the hug. Placing hands on Francis's shoulders to separate them, he rolled his eyes. "Really, Frog?"

Francis scoffed, "Who'd you get that one from anyways, Scott?"

Arthur shrugged and moved back to unpacking. "Stop acting like one, I won't call you it."

Flopping onto the bed next to Arthur's bag Francis teased, "Someone got mean on their trip." Arthur let out an amused breath through his nose prompting Francis too continue. "Too much time around Mr. Kirkland and all those stuffy business types."

"Oh, whatever," Arthur brushed off while turning to his dresser. Francis snooped in the bag and pulled out a notebook. Opening it, he began skimming through the recently written pages.

"And this is why I call you a frog. You are a slimy snoop."

Francis finished reading the page he was on before responding, not looking up from the notebook. "If you didn't want me to read it, you would ask me to stop." Arthur grumbled but didn't protest.

As Arthur finished unpacking and organizing his things, Francis continued flipping through the notebook. A comfortable silence filled the room. Arthur finished his task and sat at his desk considering grabbing a book to read.

"You are a complicated person, Arthur."

Arthur spun in his chair to face Francis who was still flipping through the notebook. "How so?"

"There's just two sides of you." Arthur raised his bushy brows in response prompting Francis to clarify, "It's not an insult. There's just always been two distinct sides of you."

Francis closed the notebook and set it aside. "Recently, it seems like there's only just one though."

"You're daft."

"I don't think I am."

"Odd that there's only one side of you then."

Francis gave his friend a sad smile. "I only ever show you one side of me."

Arthur paused. "Meaning?"

"Everyone has multiple sides. I only show you one - the true one. I show you the part of me that is actually me, not any act for others or anything like that, just me."

Arthur stared at his friend feeling an unsaid accusation. "And if I'm not only showing one side now, what am I showing you?"

"That's up to you." Arthur narrowed his eyes at the challenge - Francis had things so easy, and a thing or two to learn.

Not responding, Arthur closed the bedroom door and walked passed a surprised Francis into the closet.

"Wha-?" Before Francis could finish a question, Arthur emerged from the closet with a stack of records. He tossed them on the bed, and leaned against the wall next to his window. Peering out the window, Arthur noted that he could easily climb out and down to the ground to escape this conversation.

"Mozart?"

Arthur groaned. "No, fucking," he gestured at Francis, "open it."

A grin grew on Francis' face when he realized what it was. "Ah, and bad boy Arthur returns with a flourish."

"Stop that. You felt like I was pretending and shit, well, these are mine and obviously not a mask."

Francis shook the Mozart cover. "Hidden in a cover though."

"You can't have it all."

Francis waved his hand in a circle gesturing for Arthur to continue.

"I mean what I say. Sometimes you have to do stuff you don't want to."

"Were you told that helps build character?"

"Shut it, Frog. You might not get it, but it's called having integrity."

"I think it's called fitting into a small box others make for you."

Arthur spluttered. Francis span the Sex Pistols record around his fingers narrowing his eyes at it. "Like a shoebox."

"Oh, come one! I chose what's important to me and stick by the values associated with it."

Francis pursed his lips and looked at Arthur up and down. "So you secretly listen to this music, but hold deep hatred for the part of town it gets associated with and the people because values."

Arthur clenched his jaw, reminding himself that Francis was a temptation steering him away from his life goals. He grabbed his crossed arms tighter at the association of Francis with temptation. "I never said I held any hatred for it."

Putting the record back in its false home Francis stated, "You're ashamed of it if you have to hide it."

Snatching the record out of Francis' hands Arthur accused, "This is why I can never hang out with you long."

Francis put his hands up in a mock surrender. "Didn't mean to lecture."

"Yeah, yeah, you just want to understand. Heard it before." Arthur returned from the closet and leaned against the wall again. "Any reason you stopped by other than to harass me?"

"I don't know if you remember that bookstore we went to at the beginning of the summer, but there's an event later - "

"No."

"No?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You know what that place is right?"

"You seemed to like the book you got there."

"A book is not a social," Arthur all but spat.

Francis rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous, Arthur, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, you a f… a frog."

Francis looked towards the window nodding.

Swallowing he claimed, "My fault for forgetting we are just bizarre family acquaintances, right?"

Arthur sighed, "Francis."

Tapping a book on the desk Francis continued, "Nah, I shouldn't ask anything of you after you spent so much time with your family. That's my bad." With one last hand tap on the book, Francis turned to leave. "See you at the next family gathering when you're your other self, Arthur."

Arthur watched Francis leave not responding. After the french teen went down the stairs, Arthur dropped into his desk chair and ran his hands over his face. Since when did his relationship with Francis get so tense? Leaning back, Arthur grabbed the only book on his desk to read, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.

* * *

The next evening, Arthur was sitting along on his bed reading Wuthering Heights, Francis's book recommendations had rubbed off on him, but he tried not to think about that. Despite his attempts, their last conversation kept playing in his head. It was easy to ignore when his family kept bugging him and wanted to talk about the trip, but now that he was alone, he kept picturing Francis's face right before he turned away.

The memory stung. Closing the book forcibly, Arthur sighed in frustration. The sting turned into a fiery anger. He didn't need to take shit from Francis. He had his own stuff to worry about. Hell, he shouldn't even associate with Francis. Then again, maybe his friend had a point about liking things and not liking where they came from. He didn't like being subtly referred to as two-faced or mask wearing or whatever the fuck, but Francis wasn't wrong.

Arthur got up from the bed and went to grab his records from his closet. He tossed them on the bed and sat down, letting his small collection surround him. Legs crossed, chin in his hands, he peered at them in thought. With one quick glance at his closed door, he reached and took one out of its false cover, and set it down. He continued to stare at them intently for a few minutes.

He rubbed his cheek. He glanced at the window. He bit his lip. He glanced at the window. He stared at the covers. He glanced.

"Okay, yeah, fuck it," he muttered to himself.

He quickly gathered all his records and went into his closet to store them. While there, he grabbed comfortable shoes and put them on. He halted his fast movements once he was standing in front of his window.

His eyes ran over the path to climb down that he mapped out when Francis was over. It didn't look too hard, but also he had never tried climbing out a second story window before - not something a gentleman, or any normal person for that matter, would do.

Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet trying to psych himself up. He could do this. With a deep breath, he unlocked the window and pulled it open. The drop seemed much higher when looking down with his head out the window. He took a step back and put both hands on his head.

Come on, Arthur. It's an easy climb and not like you'll get caught.

He stuck to that second thought. After everything that happened with Scott, he really couldn't afford getting caught doing something like this. He turned to lean against the wall feeling his innards pull back and forth in a fight about what to do.

Deep, calming breaths were the only sound in the room, filling the space with Arthur's quiet attempt at meditation. Once his heart rate was steady, Arthur opened his eyes and looked straight at the book sitting on the corner of his desk. He lifted his gaze to the closed door.

In a steady pace, he walked in that direction, and turned off the light cloaking the room in darkness - the room only partially illuminated by the light coming through the open window. No one will come in to see him missing if they think he's asleep.

Once again, he stood in front of the open window this time without fear. Taking one last look around his dark room, he hooked a leg over the window and hopped out. In theory, he could walk along the edge of the roof, grab onto a tree branch and slowly climb his way down.

In actuality, the roof felt steep under his shaky knees, a symptom of a slight fear of heights, so instead of walking to the tree, he dignitifyingly slid on his ass as close as he could get. In that moment, he realized he may have chose shoes comfortable enough for the walk but not suitable for a roof.

He feet slipped out from under him making him lose the grip he had on the roof. Gravity began to pull him off the roof feet first followed by a hearty grunt and curse. By the ever-loving grace of God, Arthur was able to catch hold of the roof before he slid too far.

Although by far the least religious member of the family, Arthur muttered a meaningly, "Thank you, Jesus."

Sometimes people say prayers of thanks a little too soon. Arthur was one of those people, because immediately after the thanks he uttered a dark curse to the creator of all with the realization that he did not have the upper body strength or grip to pull himself up anymore.

"Okay, okay, you got this," Arthur whispered as he tried to wiggle his way down farther. Maybe he could slowly lower his feet until he was grabbing the edge of the roof and just drop to the ground gracefully? Yeah, people do that all the time. Arthur could be graceful and athletic. He could do it. He mumbled the mantra of support to himself as he shifted back and forth slowly lowering himself.

Sadly, people do not drop gracefully from roofs very often. Even sadder, Arthur was not all that athletic in terms of strength. And the saddest of all, Arthur could not do it, much less gracefully.

A shout of fuck and a leafy thump broke through the night's stillness. Arthur laid on his back deep in the bushes that lined part of the back garden against the house. He took a moment to appreciate the waning moon and few stars actually visible in the sky and let embarrassment consume him. He shifted to get up but paused after a small movement. Getting out of the bush would be more uncomfortable and loud.

Arthur closed his eyes and muttered, "You got to be fucking kidding me."

At this point, there were more than enough signs telling him to turn back, but after a fall from the roof and a few scratches from branches, he was not about to get nothing out of it. Maybe it was a sign he was being an idiot, but Arthur had been told a lot of things recently and been pulled in too many directions. Maybe it was time he stuck to a conviction for once.

With a encouraging nod and deep breath, and lifted himself from the bush as quickly as possible to untangle himself from leafy limbs. With a sigh, Arthur straightened his clothes and tried to get the twigs and leaves off him and out of his hair. He surveyed the damaged state of his clothes and immediately regretted not changing into something more casual, but it was too late for that.

The bush was dented in the middle where his body had landed and broken branches. Arthur winced at the state of it and scratched at his head. Not much that could be done to fix that. If he's lucky his mom won't garden and if anyone notices they'll blame it on an animal or something. No way anyone would suspect Arthur falling from the roof anyways.

With one last shake of his dirtied shirt and a deep breath he turned and started walking to his destination. He'd show Francis who was embarrassed about that part of town. Honestly, he secretly hoped he was embarrassed or horrified, that he would feel out of place. If he didn't belong there, he could move on. But if he didn't belong there and felt out of place at home, what could he do with himself?

The walk didn't take as long as Arthur suspected. Somehow it was as if his body knew exactly where to go cutting through side streets and shortcuts to reach the few blocks with bars, clubs and music venues he was looking for. He recognized the names of a few from stories in the papers where his parents berated the type of music the bands played. Arthur stood awkwardly on the sidewalk shifting on his feet. He could tell there was some organization to the order of things, but had no idea beyond that it was all supposed to be bad for him.

People milled about on the sidewalk, hanging outside of venues and in and out of places. Smoke rose from small groups leaning against buildings and city on curbs conversing. They wore clothes unlike any Arthur owned - old, ripped and dirty. some wore mismatched and color clothing sticking out in the dark mills of people. A hodgepodge of noise carried up and down the street - some bizarre combination of different songs and people talking, laughing, and some fighting. Arthur watched one clearly drunk man with colorful hair and makeup and throne out of one building. A man with a large mohawk brushed by Arthur on the sidewalk surprising him. Suddenly, this didn't feel like the best idea in the world considering no one knew he was here.

He almost turned away, when he loud music began coming from one of the closer venues. He paused. This is what he came for. Not the bars or the supposedly undesirable people, but to prove… something. He supposed that he just wanted to see what the live version of the stuff he listened to. Walt talked up the experience of music when they used to listen to records on his floor.

Thinking about Walt after everything Scott had said made Arthur question if he was putting his trust in the wrong person. This could be one of those things that made him look at Walt the same way as before. If he could be right about something he said with such conviction, maybe Arthur would see him the same way, maybe he would feel betrayal, maybe he could forgive Walt from hiding something so important from him.

Arthur walked up to the building there the music was coming from. In the moment, he realized he may be book smart but was definitely lacking something. Damn, his parents for keeping him sheltered. How could he forget to bring a wallet? Arthur made an attempt at walking casually, though to anyone who was paying attention could see how stiff and out of place he felt. Once he reached the building, he ducked into the alley between the music venue and dingey bar next door.

Shrouded in shadow, he let out a breath. The noise from the street felt muffled and distant despite it being just as loud as before. He was never one for going out, and the vast differences in the people made it even harder. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eye to focus on the muffled sounds coming through the brick. He could hear enough to tell it was someone talking through a mic. After another noise, maybe a crowd, a guitar riff filled the alley, and a band began to play.

The music was partially muffled and cloaked by the street sounds, but it was good. Arthur tapped his foot and patted his leg along with the sounds coming through. It was nice - the cool breeze blowing through the alley carrying the smell of smoke and sweat, the sounds of people, the music escaping through the brick. Walt was many things, but he was not a complete liar.

Over time, the music got harder to hear, as the more people began to fill the sidewalks walking to other venues and bars. It must be getting late. The feeling of belonging faded with the music, but still he strained to keep listening, to imagine the distorted lyrics as the lines from his own poems. A voice startled Arthur out of his trance and made him jump.

"Hey, are you okay?" A brown haired boy asked timidly from the sidewalk.

Arthur stood. "Uh, yeah, I'm just…" He lamely pointed to the wall behind him.

The boy smiled. "Couldn't get in?"

"Something like that."

"I don't like the crowds much either."

"Sure. Well, thanks for checking in and everything." Arthur sped through his words hoping to hide his discomfort.

"Oh, I wasn't the one who wanted to. Not that I didn't! My friend saw you." He gestured to a girl with short blond hair standing not far behind him. She eyed Arthur curiously. At the mention of her, she walked forward and spoke up.

"And you definitely look out of place here," she gestured to his clothes. The brown haired boy pinched the bridge of his nose at her honesty.

Arthur looked down at this clothes. He knew he was dressed a little too nicely but didn't think the sweater would make him stand out that much. He glanced at their clothes. The brown haired boy had on a t-shirt with some logo Arthur didn't recognize and a pair of old, dark jeans that had definitely seen better days. The girl wore a skirt with fishnets and a feminine blouse - both very bright for what Arthur expected around here. Yet her dramatic makeup and windswept hair still made her fit in. Arthur looked down at himself again and realized he looked like a fucking businessman.

He made eye contact with the others sheepishly. "It's my first time out this way."

The girl's eyes lit up. She shook the boys arm. "He's new! He needs mentors!" The boy went to respond, but she ignored him to address Arthur. "We'll like totally show you around, and be your buds and stuff. This'll be fun."

The boy leaned against the wall and with a smile, mouthed sorry at Arthur.

"What?" Before Arthur could articulate a question the girl was tugging at his shirt.

She paused to look at him. "You need to lose the sweater."

"I repeat: what?"

She rolled her eyes and cocked her hip. "I'm helping you blend in more, duh. Now, lose the sweater, untuck your shirt, roll your sleeves or something and unbutton some buttons on your shirt."

"I'd do it if I were you," the boy piped in.

As he was taking off his sweater Arthur complained, "I don't even know you."

The boy leaned forward to shake Arthur's hand. "I'm Torris." Arthur noticed how relaxed the handshake was, shy. His dad would say it's the sign of a weak man - good for business though.

"And I'm Felix," the blond stated.

"Wait, Felix?" Arthur scrutinized the person in front of him, noting distinct features in their face. His eyes dragged down their form taking in the clothes and back up to the angular face where glaring eyes met his own.

"Got a problem with it?"

Torris took a step forward to grab their arm, "Felix."

Arthur sputtered, "No, sorry, I'm just… confused?"

"Confused?"

Arthur shrugged. He really didn't want to offend anyone while in a dark alley wallet or not.

"Clothes don't dictate gender, and boys can wear what they want. It's cute," Felix shook his skirt.

"Oh."

"You sure you aren't lost?"

"I… uh…" He may not have been lost, but he kind of wished he was.

Torris took that moment to speak up. "Come on, Felix, he doesn't usually hang out here." Felix seemed to consider the words while Torris questioned Arthur, "You look young. Still live at home?"

"Yeah."

Felix considered him. "And you really couldn't get in?"

Arthur looked towards the sky wishing he didn't have to admit anything. "I left my wallet at home."

"Oh my god, you snuck out!"

"Well…" Arthur scratched at his head. It sounded worse when someone said it out loud like some sort of betrayal to his family.

"You totally got to stick with us! We can be your first buddies," Felix enthused. Torris smiled at his friend's antics then turned to Arthur.

"We could probably get you into a venue without an I.D. Felix has friends, and we know which bouncers are sympathetic. We don't come for bands, but I'm guessing you wanted live music."

"Sounds good." Arthur swallowed down any reluctance at agreeing to be with them. If he wanted to get anything else out of his excursion, he would have to get passed his initial reaction to Felix. Besides, looking at the other people milling about, Felix fit in here much more than Arthur. Giving into some of his unwanted tendencies could actually do him good for once.

"Aw, I thought we were going to the bar," Felix wined. Arthur tried not to react, but a guy his own age whining like that? If not reacting to the skirt was hard, this was nearly impossible. It was as if his dad's worst nightmare and everything Scott and his mom warned him about fucked and had a child, and his name was Felix.

Torris told Felix, "He…" He paused to ask Arthur, "What is your name by the way?"

"Arthur." He considered a fake name, but it was not a night to lie it seemed. He could already feel himself falling into place with the two strange people despite his bodily aversions.

Felix made a face at the name, obviously having an opinion, but Torris went back to talking. "Arthur hasn't been here before. Let's get him in to see a band and maybe a simple bar." Torris gave Felix a look Arthur couldn't read but anything to rein in the flamboyant boy made Arthur feel better. He sometimes couldn't handle Francis, and Felix was on a whole other level.

"Ugh, fine, but only because you look like a cardboard cutout with how awkward you are," Felix pointed at Arthur. "Next time, we are having more fun my way."

"Of course," Torris agreed as if getting bossed around by a tiny blond boy in a skirt was normal for him.

Arthur followed the two into the street. They walked slowly at first allowing for some small talk. Torris and Felix were about Arthur's age with Torris being one year ahead of him and Felix. Arthur tried his hardest not to talk much about himself, but everytime he deliberately avoided questions Torris would give him a sympathetic look as if Arthur was unable to let himself indulge in a dark past or homelife.

He tried not to stare when Felix grabbed Torris's hand when crossing a street. The behavior was something expected from Felix, but Arthur hadn't gotten that vibe from Torris. But, who was he to decide? People don't expect the vibe from him. Yet, here he is.

Interrupting Felix explaining some gossip Arthur only pretended to keep up with he asked, "So where are we going anyways?"

Felix unclasped himself from Torris and spun around dramatically to stand next to Arthur and hooked their arms together. He gestured for Torris to do the same to the other side of Arthur so they could walk following-the-yellow-brick-road style.

"Great of you to ask! We have a friend that is in a band playing a couple blocks from here. It's a small venue, but not hard to get a mid-week gig this time of year, you know? His band had some guy leave. I think he went back East, right Torris?"

"Yep."

"So they'll probably do some covers tonight, and you'll recognize some stuff. Also, it won't be too crowded for Torris." Felix leaned forward to give Torris a smile across from Arthur.

"It's very chill. More of a pub with a stage in the back. Very casual, and we can probably get you in without an I.D." Torris explained.

"That sounds good," Arthur stated trying to keep his nerves in check.

This was a moment that seemed like a dream. Never in his life could Arthur have imagined himself here with a timid and tall boy on his left hooked around Arthur's arm loosely. Their elbows shifting and knocking with each step due to the loose and relaxed hold. Crazier than that was the tight and controlling hold the short, skirt-wearing boy on his right had on him. With each blink he was shocked to be between these two people, out on a Thursday night with no one knowing he was going to see some local rock band at a some pub. As much as he wished he could feel comfortable in the moment, Arthur held his body stiffly and almost had to force himself forward.

"Okay, we are getting close. You need to look sad like you're family will never love you and you need this more than anything in the world right now," Felix instructed Arthur casually.

Arthur looked at him bug-eyed. Before he could sputter a response out, Torris shook his arm and inclined his head towards a large man standing by the door. Arthur stiffened.

"Berwald!" Felix exclaimed in greeting.

Arthur could barely comprehend the mumbled, "Felix. Torris." The man eyed Arthur. Felix tried to walk straight in, but Berwald shot an arm out. "Felix, you know the drill."

"Every time? You know me." Berwald just stared stoically. Arthur thought he would make a good businessman or politician with the way he controlled the conversation, but he was a match for Felix who took a different tactic.

"How's Tino?" There was a subtle different in Berwald's features - his eyes softening. "Tino is good as always."

"That's great."

A pause.

Torris sighed. "Our friend left his wallet at home. No I.D."

Arthur tried to look small under Berwald's gaze, something not hard considering how harsh the man's eyes felt.

"You know the rules. This is a pub. There is alcohol."

"We promise he's old enough!" Felix insisted, "He had to sneak out and couldn't get his I.D. It's his first time being around everyone. He should feel welcome in the community."

Arthur, now figuring out what to look for, noticed muscles shift in Berwald's face and his stance shift. Who knew all the business training his dad tried to give him would pay off in a place like this? Berwald shook his head no slowly.

"Look at this blond mop." Felix rubbed his hands over Arthur's hair. Arthur tried to hold back from swatting it away, but couldn't hold back the dark look directed at Felix.

Torris spoke up again realizing Felix was going nowhere, "Kind of reminded us of how Tino was. Especially with the family stuff."

There was a pause that fell over the group. Apparently, that was the nerve Felix was trying to hit indirectly.

Torris swallowed nervously and continued. "He just wants to hear some music and be around people like him for once."

"Fine, but just this once and no trouble."

Felix jumped up and down clapping. "Thank you! Thank you!" As they walked in, he turned and called out, "Tell Tino we say hi." Berwald rolled his eyes and leaned back against the door.

"What was all that?" Arthur asked.

"He comes across as really intense, but he's a softy, especially about Tino," Torris explained.

"Oh my God, you'll have to meet Tino. He's the smallest guy you'll ever meet and super sweet. They are cute but look ridiculous together."

"Wait, he's…?"

Felix rolled his eyes. "Girl, where do you think you are? Do you really not hang out with anyone cool?"

Arthur suddenly felt out of place again. He looked around and felt like he was transported into the bookstore from before all those knots returning.

"Well, pish posh. You have us now. Oh my God, do you want me to find a guy for you?"

"No!" Arthur refused quickly. Torris put a hand on his shoulder, "Felix, can come off strong. You're allowed to ignore him." Felix dignifiedly responded by flicking Torris's ear.

"Sorry for coming off 'too strong.' But, honestly, I'll help you find someone next time if you want. It'll be fun. We can go dancing or something more my style."

"I don't umm… I may have… urges and stuff… but, even if I was ready for that, I am not looking." Arthur was able to stutter out honestly - the most honest he'd been even with himself recently. It was the least he could do for them being so nice and accepting and getting him out.

Felix's eyes widened. "You like somebody." Torris facepalmed. Arthur tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but his flush was obvious. He was surprised by how honest he was being all night and was realizing it was not the best thing. "Tell me about him! I love girl talk, yes."

"It's not... Maybe another time?" Arthur rubbed his forehead. He didn't even want to try to begin to explain it.

"Is he straight?" Felix conspired.

"No, no, I don't think so, it's just… other stuff." Arthur finished lamely. And he thought he was having awkward fun tonight. Now, he was replaying his argument with Francis. Other stuff was one way to put Arthur's issues.

Torris put an arm around Felix. "Let him go." More so to Felix than Arthur he added, "He snuck out tonight and kind of reminds us of Tino remember?" Felix gave Arthur a guilty look.

"Let me buy you a drink?" Felix offered lamely. Arthur internally sighed in relief, "Sure." As they moved further back, Arthur could hear the band finishing with soundcheck. Finally, he was getting to what he put up with everything for.

The group stayed back and listened to the music for a few songs. Arthur stood in a trance. At least one song he recognized as a cover from one of his records, but the rest were new. He put down his third beer of the night and leaned close to Torris.

"Which one is your friend?"

"That guy, Vlad." He pointed to one of the guitarists. "They are a bit of a hodgepodge right now. Their lyricist and bassist left back to somewhere in Eastern Europe."

Arthur tracked the movement of everyone around the stage. Some unconscious part of him spoke before his brain could even consider his words. "I write lyrics sometimes."

Torris smiled at him in surprise. "I should introduce you guys after." Arthur nodded and peeled his eyes off the stage.

He took in the crowds of people milling about, from the groups sharing drinks in the back to the small cluster in front of the band. He made eye-contact with a tall, scarf-wearing man across the room. He had a chiselled jaw and piercing eyes. What Arthur assumed was an Asian girl was talking to him, but he could be wrong. Clothing and hair meant nothing about gender he was learning fast. Arthur continued to watch the man. He smirked at Arthur, looked him up and down, and then turned back to talk to the person in front of him.

"Whose that?"

Felix scoffed. "Ivan, he's an ass. Someone should write 'Stay Away' on his forehead at this point."

"What about Ivan?" Torris butted in quickly.

"Just saw him looking over here is all," Arthur explained.

Torris shifted and glanced quickly. "He's horrible. You said he was here? Looking this way?" Arthur nodded feeling as if he was starting something. Starting something meant being on Berwald's bad side. Staying off that man's bad side was Arthur's new night goal because all his other plans were fucked the moment he let two teens drag him out of the alley.

Torris looked over at Ivan and met the man's eyes. He smirked at them before he turned to leave with his friend. To himself Torris whispered, "Fuck." After a breath he asked Felix, "Have you seen Raivis?"

Felix bit his lip shaking his head no. Torris sighed and gestured for them to follow. He led them to where Ivan was before.

"Be right back," he called as he continued into the men's restroom.

"It's a long story," Felix said as if reading Arthur's mind. They both turned to the band and listened in silence. A full song finished before Torris emerged with a short boy following behind.

"Arthur, this is Raivis. Raivis this is our new friend Arthur."

Arthur went to shake the boy's hand. The handshake was loose and sweaty, the perfect example of how not to shake a hand. Silence fell over the group. Luckily, the band was announcing the final song, and they all had a reason to face the stage.

As the song reached its peak, Arthur began to notice Raivis trembling slightly. His eyes kept being drawn to his subtle movement. He was not the only one. Felix asked him with a serious tone, "Did you let Ivan get under your skin again?"

Raivis winced, "He's intimidating and can be… convincing."

Through the exchange Torris hadn't taken his eyes off the stage. "I think I'm going to help Raivis get home. Felix, you should introduce Arthur to Vlad. He writes songs apparently."

Felix turned to Arthur with a grin, "Really?"

"Poems, but they are similar, right?"

"Oh my god, yes!" Felix hugged his friends and grabbed Arthur's hand to lead him. He just had enough time to chug the last of his glass of liquid courage and wave his two new friends goodbye.

* * *

A/N: I absolutely love writing Torris and Felix, and I didn't see that coming. Work (where I usually proofread) has been crazy busy, so I apologize for any typos. I've been focused more are writing future chapters than proofing.

Let me know what you think; your likes, dislikes, advice . The usual

Considering making a twitter for my fanfic username and posting my fics on AO3, but am still undecided.

Next update soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Gentleman's Return and Subsequent Decline Part 2

The breeze blew a cool dewy air down the quiet street. The chill of early morning air filled each breeze more and more. The sky was a deep purple signaling the soon-to-rise sun. Arthur stumbled along the sidewalk. He walked in a cross pose putting one foot in front of the other in a mock dance as he hummed a tune only existing in his head.

He stumbled on a corner and paused to make sure he was heading the right way. He needed to be home soon so he had time to get to bed before his early rising parents got up. The walk shouldn't be taking as long as it was, but Arthur was not used to walking distances while drunk.

Once, his family let everyone have champagne and wine for New Year's and Arthur had gotten tipsy. The world would shift when he turned his head, but this was a different kind of drunkenness. In the past, he sat quietly reflecting on himself. Now, he spoke much more about far too personal things than he would ever do. Halfway home he sat on a curb and cried for no reason at all.

Well, not for no reason, but for complicated ones. He was thinking about how he actually had fun and how he liked the people he met. An unnerving feeling rose from his stomach to his throat as the weight of everything sunk in. How could he enjoy something so horrible? His emotions were split down the middle and the pressure of it all drove him to tears. Just thinking about how he wasted time on that curb made a lump form in his throat.

Instead of focusing on the implication of what he had done and the promises he made, he focused on the lovely floating feeling the alcohol gave him and on his task of getting the fuck home. He went back to humming the tune Vlad plucked on his guitar while talking to Arthur.

Vlad was nice, a little rough around the edges, but Arthur expected no less from a punk, Romanian immigrant. Aspects of their conversation blend together in Arthur's contaminated mind, but it did not matter. A number was scrawled in marker up Arthur's arm. He'd call Vlad later about meeting up. If he got the courage, Arthur would bring his poems as per the deal. Helping with a band could be fun. Actually doing something with something he writes would be even better.

Arthur secretly liked when Francis read through his notebooks because it meant that somebody other than Arthur was reading and appreciating them. Appreciating was the key. When Scott read the notebook, he did not appreciate, he dissected. Arthur grumbled about Scott as he stumbled onto his street. The poems deserved recognition. The picture of someone like him sitting on the floor with their brother listening to his own words filled him. Something like that wouldn't happen, but the feeling was almost as nice as the feeling of alcohol in his system.

The more he drank, the more his nerves dissolved. With a drink in his hand, he could ignore the voices of his family in his head. He could enjoy the moment and himself fully. The dam that held all his emotions at bay was open and flowing. Who knows what would have happened if he didn't at least have a pleasant, comforting buzz in his system when he hung out with Vald and Felix. He definitely needed it to see past Felix's skirt and Vlad's attire which the mom voice in his head called satanic.

He let his thoughts wonder as he reached the back garden. The bush he fell in still looked fucked up, but not as bad as he initially felt when leaving. Running hands through his hair, he eyed the roof. One hand reached towards the edge, and he squinted at the distance. The door looked much more promising at this point. He rubbed at his eye as he stood in front of the door thinking. A black smudge appeared on the side of his hand. It had been a crazy night. Turning away from the door he thought, "Still is a crazy night."

The tree was not the most promising option, but sometimes the original plan is the best one. Stepping quietly, he reached the trunk. He just needed to propel himself up a little so he could grab the low hanging, thick branch and get to the roof to hall himself up. Easy. Hopefully, easier than coming down.

It took three jumping starts before he was able to reach the branch and scramble to a sitting position on it. Climbing trees was fun, maybe he should try it sober when the tree was more visually steady. Slowly, he scooted along the branch until he was as close to the roof as he was willing to risk. With a steady breath to prepare, he leaped until the roof. A bang echoed as his body hit the shingles.

Fuck.

Now, he really needed to move fast in case that woke anyone up. For some reason his drunken mind concluded that sliding on his stomach to his window was the best option to avoid falling. He wiggled back and forth dramatically as he made his way to his still-open window. Once there, he stood and stepped inside.

Returning to his room and closing the window was a sobering experiencing. Everything was left as it was before. The house was silent, only the generic sounds of building settling filled the air. Arthur labored breathing filled his ears as he peered around - book still on the bed and another on the dresser. He rubbed his face, exhaustion finally hitting him after all this time.

He needed to brush his teeth and wash the sweat off his face. He quickly took of his shoes and padded softly to the door. He pressed his ear to the cold surface and held his breath. No sound came through. Either everyone was still sound asleep or his door was incredibly thick - a risk worth taking. He pushed the door open wincing at a squeak.

Tip toeing dramatically, he made it to the bathroom without incident and locked the door behind him allowing for much needed privacy. The light made him wince. Once his eyes adjusted to it, he surveyed himself in the mirror.

He looked like a mess, and not even a hot one.

His hair was sticking out all over, mostly from when he yanked it while sitting on the curb. The sweat just helped it stay standing. He rubbed his hand over his chest. There wasn't a distinct memory of unbuttoning his shirt all the way, but he knew that it happened slowly at first and then just came undone. He ran a hand over his face and peered at his eyes. Apparently, he wasn't the best drunk.

His green eyes pierced his own skin, the color popping more due to dark eyeliner coating his lids. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a stick of liner that Felix gave to him.

Felix and Vlad joked about how much he stood out from his clothes to everything else about his look and stance. He had drunkenly demanded they make him fit in. The memory of him grabbing Vlad by the shirt and begging, "Fix me," filled his mind. God, he can't believe the guy still wanted to hang out. Must be believing the tortured artist shit.

Felix was more than happy to coat Arthur's eyes after a short discussion on what kind of "look" he was going for. He gave the liner to Arthur to keep with one demand.

"Meet us here tomorrow, and we'll go to a place I choose. Just promise you'll wear something more appropriate."

Arthur agreed drunk on the feeling of belonging as well as the alcohol.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. He actually did like the look. Separating himself from his family in this way was oddly nice. They caused him so much stress, becoming something else and embracing a different side of him was the best de-stress activity. What he didn't like were the dark smears of make-up on his cheeks.

If only the make-up Felix gave him was waterproof. The once fun, punk look took on a sad feeling. Arthur had to face his own mistakes and regrets when looking at the smeared eyeliner across his face. How could he let it all happen? It was wrong.

He bit his lip hard, trying to stop his eyes from tearing up. A tremble ran through his arm.

"Fuck," he whispered the word, voice cracking.

He leaned down to wash his face clean, scrubbing harshly at his eyes. Once done, he peered in the mirror again, not sure what he was hoping to see, but definitely hoping for something that he was not seeing. His face was full of red splotches; his eyes were glassey. His jaw clenched in frustration. If it wouldn't break, he would have punched the mirror.

He leaned forward forcing himself to look away from his reflection. While rocking on his toes attempting to calm himself his eyes caught the number written on his arm. He glanced up at his face again. The number could be washed off in the morning. For now, he needed to get rest.

He padded back to his room and fell onto the bed passing out immediately.

Arthur slept unaware as the house began to awaken and fill with noise. He slept through his brothers going and up and down the stairs. He slept through his family discussing Arthur's absence downstairs. He slept through his mom knocking on the door and cracking it open.

She whispered, "Arthur? Arthur?"

Arthur grunted in response his brain slowly turning on.

"Sweetie, are you feeling okay?"

Arthur groaned, "Yeah, yeah, just trouble sleeping. I'm getting up."

"Okay, just making sure you weren't feeling sick."

A thumbs up rose from Arthur's bed. His mom chuckled and closed the door behind her. Arthur continued to lay in bed adjusting to the morning. He listened to the sounds of a lively house as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Catching a whiff of himself he winced, he definitely needed a shower before someone realized he was not in bed all night.

He grabbed some casual clothes and leaned against the door, hearing someone on the stairs. The footsteps sounded like they were going down, but he wasn't sure, so he counted to ten before opening the door and walking to the bathroom. On the way, he watched the stairs. Due to guessing the wrong place to put his attention, he ran into somebody.

"Woah, Arthur. Awake at last, I see," Walt said cheerfully.

"Yep, and showering, so if you don't mind." Arthur tried to swerve around Walt quickly.

Arthur was jolted to a stop when Walt grabbed his arm. Concern morphed Walt's face. "Are you okay? You've been acting weird since you got back."

"I'm fine."

"Well, can we talk?" Arthur searched Walt's face. Had Scott informed him of what he told Arthur? Did Scott somehow know about last night?

While Arthur was trying to come up with a response, Walt turned his arm to look at the marker on it. Arthur's eyes widened, and he forcibly pulled his arm back.

"Yeah, later, I got to... bathroom," he lied quickly pointing to the bathroom before dashing inside. He considered making a fake fart noise to sound like he was using the toilet in an emergency. Luckily, he realized how idiotic that would be and turned on the shower. Unluckily, he was unaware of the sigh Walt gave towards the door.

He turned the water so hot until it was scorching. How was he such an idiot all the time? Wasn't he supposed to be some sort of academic? He scrubbed the number off his arm until it went raw and turned bright red. Hopefully, Walt could forget about it, or Arthur could get away with avoiding Walt a little bit longer. Anything to put off whatever awkward conversation was bound to happen.

Oddly enough, Arthur found it easy to avoid Walt. He weaved around the house during the day keeping busy, something easy when most of the early parts of the day were spent sleeping. In the late afternoon, he sat at his desk looking through one of his notebooks, tapping a pen against his chin. Some of the day had been spent writing, and now, he was reviewing all his recent work.

After everything that had happened over the last few weeks, he looked at them with a new pair of eyes. There was no surprise as to Scott's concern after just reading some pages. They did come off very teenage angst and weren't the best poems, but Arthur could visualize how some of them could become songs like the ones him and Walt used to listen to together.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to stop thinking like that. Yesterday was a lapse of judgement - fun but a one time thing. He needed to focus on what was important, stop giving into temptation, and… and what? Deep down he wanted to ask Walt how he dealt with it, but it sounded like he just got over it and Arthur was not about to open himself up for the disaster that would happen if his family decided to lecture him.

He could image them asking him why over and over, begging him to change, and him having no answer at all. It wasn't worth opening up himself to questioning when he couldn't even sort himself out privately. He flipped to the back of the notebook where he wrote Vlad's number. Maybe he could still do music without having to go out again.

The problem was that the night before was fun, more fun than Arthur had had in a long time. For once, he wasn't pretending to enjoy himself like when he spend the week out of the country with his dad and Scott. That's not to say that he was stressed and on edge surrounded by people like Felix, but it was still better than his other options. Maybe he could just use going out as something to do if he really needed it and as a way to get away from his family when they were getting too much.

"Hey, nerd," Scott greeted from the doorway.

Arthur started and closed him notebook. "Hey."

Scott smirked. "Working on anything cool?" Recently, he had been butting in more often and asking more questions. Arthur was starting to think that Scott really felt like they bonded on the trip and were close. He may have been suspicious of something, but Arthur shoved that thought to the back of his mind.

Arthur lied, "I was looking at working on that fantasy story you said sounded cool. I hadn't touched it in so long, and you reminded me of it the other day."

Scott nodded. "Actually something interesting. Unexpected."

"Oh, fuck you."

Scott raised his brows in surprise at the language, genuinely shocked. "Well, sorry to interrupt, but can you help set the table? We're eating soon."

Arthur glanced at the clock. It was much later than he thought. "Isn't it your turn to set the table?"

Scott smiled and waved his hands. "Older brother privilege." He turned to walk away as Arthur called out, "That's not fair!"

"Someone's got to do it," Scott's voice carried down the hall.

Arthur grumbled as his put away his notebook in the second drawer of his desk and went downstairs.

When Arthur was really young, he enjoyed family dinners. It wasn't something everyone did, and made his family feel special. Despite how busy his family was and how much attention his successful brothers required, there was always time for Arthur. There was time to listen to him, to talk to him, and to teach him.

When Arthur got older, he realized he didn't much like being taught. Teaching felt more like lectures, lectures that made Arthur feel like shit. The older you get, the more you notice until you realize that everyone is full of the same amount of shit as you are.

The best thing about childhood is maintaining the ability to believe the things the people important in your life say. More often than not, Arthur feels like he was tricked into eating the forbidden fruit that opened his eyes. Awareness made family dinners different. Sometimes they were hard and sometimes it felt like he was part of any normal family. Setting the table felt like the beginning of a normal family moment, but dinners are long and leave room for a lot of topics.

Arthur consumed large amounts of his dinner faster than a gentleman should, finally having an appetite after a while without one. He zoned in and out of the mundane conversations settling on one where his dad was talking about work, the most boring of topics… except when it's office gossip.

"Do you remember Jyri Väinämöinen? Him and his wife came to that Christmas party?" Mr. Kirkland bought up casually.

Scott butted in, "They had a son in one of my classes I think."

Walt added, "Tino?"

Arthur perked up at the name.

Mrs. Kirkland smiled, "Yes. Jyri was always nice. Great people."

"Well, I don't know about that," Mr. Kirkland hinted.

Scott elbowed Walt and snorted, "I mean with a son like that."

Mrs. Kirkland sounded, "Oh?"

Walt chuckled at the face Scott was making.

Arthur stiffened. He wanted to get his muscles to relax but couldn't. His body said run, but his mind said, "if you stay perfectly still, they won't notice you." How could this be happening? He lived in a city for God's sake. The world had to hate him, because it could not possibly be this small.

Mr. Kirkland tried to explain in the most proper way possible, a gentleman even when gossiping. "They've been having lots of trouble with their son. It's been going on for a while."

"That's a shame. Is he ill?"

Scott snorted, "Might as well be."

Walt smacked him. "He was always a little, um, flamboyant isn't the right word. Timid?" He directed the question at Scott.

"He's a fucking puff."

"Language, Scott," Mr. Kirkland barked.

Scott raised his hands in surrender with the complete absence of any regret.

Mrs. Kirkland turned towards her husband. "Is he? They always seemed like such a nice couple and good parents."

Mr. Kirkland nodded solemnly, "They weren't as good at quelling those little rebellions it seems." He glanced at Walt briefly.

Arthur sat frozen, his fork positioned as if he were to pick up food. he kept stealing glances at Walt to observe all his reactions. The urge to throw something was growing. Walt seemed fine with the conversation. He didn't say much, but would make quips with Scott about Tino and nod along to his mom's reactions.

Arthur was looking to Walt to be an ally. He wanted a sympathetic glance or to see some crack that proved to him that his brother did not even vaguely agree with any of the things being said. Arthur stared at this brother, the one person who might not agree to prove that he wasn't completely alone in this moment. How could this be happening? After the story Scott told, how could there not be sympathy in his eyes?

He tried to eat so he wouldn't have to participate. It would be best for him if he could completely turn out the words, but his brain made him hyper-aware to the clues of how his family would treat him if they knew.

"They are just letting him live like that now," Mr. Kirkland disapproved.

"I don't understand how they could do that," Mrs. Kirkland said simultaneously as Arthur quipped, "Really?"

The moment the word left his mouth, he winced, hoping his mom's comment would cover it up. The sets of eyes on him proved his hopes mute.

"Crazy that they'd just live with that right?" Scott asked Arthur.

Arthur swallowed. His dad spoke up before Arthur was forced to think of a response. "I sure wouldn't let someone like that live under my roof. Apparently, they kicked him out before, but gave in after awhile and decided to let him do those things under their own roof."

"I'm sure Tino isn't doing it at home," joked.

"Walter!" Mrs. Kirkland admonished.

"Just saying."

"Jyri is so okay with it, he even had the gall to mention Tino's… partner."

The name Berwald flashed across Arthur's mind. He mouthed the word thinking about everything he knows.

"So maybe he is doing it at home," Scott laughed.

Mrs. Kirkland huffed at her sons' inability to behave. "Well, I'm just glad we don't have to deal with that and have a normal family. I just don't think I could live with it."

"Not everyone can be as blessed as the Kirklands," Mr. Kirkland declared.

Walt took a long drink of water. As he pulled away he commented, "Very true."

Arthur wasn't sure if he heard bitterness in the tone, or if it was just him projecting.

Despite the rush of feelings inside, he sat through dinner. He ate at a normal pace, playing the gentleman, trying his best to contain his though; trying his best not to be obvious that he was dwelling on the conversation.

It was the longest dinner of his life, and the fire under his skin burned long into the evening.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I had skipped a scene when I first wrote it and had to backtrack. Plus, I'm moving. Thanks for sticking with me on Arthur's journey.

I have also reached a roadblock I could use some help with. I've put off including Arthur poems, but I've reached the point where I need to include them. I haven't written a poem since I was a kid. Does anyone have some advice, tips, writing exercises, idea, etc that could help? I don't know anyone irl who's interested in this stuff or willing to read, so I'm reaching out here. (I also have a tumblr with the same username you can DM me at too)

Next update in a couple of week. We are getting into some of my fav moments I've written for this so far. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Forging New Paths at Ungentlemanly Crossroads

Arthur paced his room an unknown energy surging through him. His parents were ridiculous, Scott was ridiculous, and, hell, even Walt was. He couldn't keep living like this just sitting by and absorbing everything his parents said. The fact that they were right didn't matter. If they spent more time with him or approached raising him differently, he wouldn't have all these problems. Everything was somehow a fault of theirs, and how dare they pass judgement.

Listening to them drag on silently was painful. He needed some sort of release. For once, just scribbling in his notebooks was not enough. He needed more of something, to do something to make him feel real and okay. Arthur stood in the middle of the room bouncing on the balls of his feet and pulled at his hair. He'd punch a wall if he was willing to draw attention to himself.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to calm himself. Moving to the bed, he bit his thumb in thought. He eyed the window meaningfully. A night out could help. This time he'd bring his wallet with some cash, buy a lot of drinks, maybe convince some of the people waiting for him to buy him some considering his bad day. They were sympathetic the day before. It was better he went anyways. He didn't want to cut ties with these people, and they were going to be waiting for him.

Nodding to himself, he stood and went to his closet. Felix told him to dress more appropriately and tonight he would be prepared. Inside, he located a winter coat in the corner and dug through the pocket before pulling out the eyeliner Felix gave to him. When in Rome.

It didn't take him long to dress as if the outfit was always in the back of his mind waiting for the day he had enough confidence to wear it. The eyeliner was another thing. He tapped it quickly in his hand in thought. To put it on blindly or risk the bathroom: that was the question.

It was dark out, but wasn't too late yet. People would be settling down still. He put an ear to the door and slowly opened it so that he could peak out. Light shown under both his brothers' doors, but no one was moving about. Arthur dashed down the hall and into the bathroom locking the door behind him.

He took a moment to take stalk of his reflection. He could use a lot of work. To try to fix his hair, he ran his hands through it over and over in an attempt to get it to stick up in a semi-intentional way. After a few minutes, it was the best it could be. Then he uncapped the eyeliner and made his best attempt. The outline was thick and messy, not nearly as good as when Felix did it, but he wasn't looking for perfection. He was looking to fit in better.

He flicked the light off the the bathroom and slowly open the door. Scott's light was now off, but Walt's was still on. He dashed back into his room and closed the door with a soft click. Once he had his shoes on and pocketed his wallet, he opened his window. A humid breeze blew at his face. Another sweaty summer night was ahead of him.

There was something about moving when full of spite. Arthur's knees did not buckle at the height of the roof. He did not fall or bang anything when grabbing the tree to make his way far enough down to jump off. The landing was soft and graceful. He turned around and stared at the house. For some reason, it felt like he was making an important decision this time, going down the left path of crossroads instead of the right.

The cracked window on the second floor peered at him like the eye of a cyclops judging him from above. Arthur nodded making a decision. To best demonstrate it, he rose a middle finger at his home where his family resided. "Fuck you guys," he muttered before turning and heading towards the bar from yesterday with record speed.

Once he got inside, he immediately got a drink, downed it, and grabbed another. If he was going to handle being out, he'd need to be at least buzzed. The frustration burning under his skin was turning to unease. As much as he enjoyed being out last night, being there still made his skin crawl with discomfort. The alcohol helped. A night to give into the unpleasant aspects of himself and to spite his family was all he needed. A few hours to get it out of his system so that he could handle being around them again.

What Arthur did not consider was when he should be meeting with Felix and company. They never discussed a time, and he was not used to being out. There was no reason for him to know the proper time, so he ended up being alone for a while, drinking and chatting with a few people around. At one point someone offered him a cigarette to "calm his nerves" because apparently he looked as nervous as he felt. The smoke break didn't help as much as he'd like but the drink did.

After a time that was not as long in reality as it felt for Arthur, his new friends arrived. Arthur let himself be hugged in greeting and even lightly returned the touches. Greeting with a hug was not a gentleman thing and not something Arthur was used to except with the women of his family.

Torris eyed Arthur thoughtfully. "Are you okay?"

Arthur considered a lie. He was doing better, but if he was about to be a downer, he should at least warn somebody while he was sober enough. "Had some family problems today."

Felix and Torris looked at him sympathetically. As much as he should have appreciated their feelings, it mostly filled him with disgust. No one really got it. His problems weren't real like other people's. They were just an outcome of his will being weak, his head being out of place, or something along those lines. After that thought passed his mind, he briefly remembered dinner and that his family might actually be the reason for all his problems.

Felix tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you are in for a cheering up treat, because I picked the place tonight!"

Arthur eyed the bar. "I kind of like this one."

"Boo, no," Felix protested in a teasing tone, "You just say that because you haven't been anywhere else."

"It might be Felix's favorite, but it isn't as crazy as you might think considering." Torris shrugged.

Felix guffawed. "And what is that supposed to mean."

Arthur found himself laughing at their friendly bickering. He downed his drink and tried to hide his slurring. "Yeah. Let's do this! Felix's place."

Felix wooed before leading them outside.

Torris laughed, "I think you might need to be cut off, Art."

Arthur snorted. "I," He exaggeratedly raised a finger and then waved it dramatically as he finished, "had a bad day."

Felix twirled and grabbed Arthur's arm. "Yeah, he had a bad day. Besides, maybe now we can get Arthur to dance and flirt with boys."

Arthur shook his head.

"Okay, fine, no dancing."

"You are… fuck what's the word…"

Torris smiled and began to supply options, "Crazy? Insane? Easily excitable?"

"I mean, yes, but -"

Felix cut in with pursed lips. "How about cute? Adorable? Fun?"

"Sure, but I'm thinking meddling. You're meddling or something," Arthur concluded too drunk to immediately realize he openly admitted another guy was cute.

Felix let go of him, so that he had both hands free to dramatically respond, "Me? No."

"We are meeting up with a friend," Torris admitted.

"Torris!"

"We will make it there before you even say it at this rate."

"You are a fun sucker."

Torris raised an eyebrow. "Oh my God, stop," Felix whined.

Felix hooked his arm back around Arthur and explained, "A friend of ours also has been having a bad time, so we are meeting up with him for a night of dancing."

Arthur walked a few paces in thought. If this friend also had a bad day, maybe they'd be someone Arthur could relate to considering.

"And you don't have to worry about talking because with him and Felix there won't be any more room," Torris quipped with a grin.

"Ha. Ha. The point is: he is cute, and I think you would get along. Catch my drift?"

"You are introducing me to a sad friend?"

Felix groaned and Torris laughed. "I can't believe I surround myself with boys this dense. I'm saying you might be interested in him. He likes books and stuff like you talked about yesterday, and I just get this feeling that he is your type."

Arthur had no initial memory of talking about books the night before, but after it being mentioned, was getting vague notions of some conversations. A dark pit formed in his stomach at the idea of someone deciding his type and realizing what it might be. The pit didn't hurt the way it usually did, alcohol giving him some much needed internal numbness.

"How would you know what my type is?"

Torris responded, "He's just good at it. It's like some secret talent."

Felix beamed. "Thank you."

They walked half a block in silence before Felix began a mundane conversation. Arthur was thankful for it. All of his focus was spent navigating the tilting world straightly, and he didn't think he had enough uncontaminated brainpower for a real conversation at this point. Plus, Felix had to feel his sway awkwardly and bump into him every so often.

It didn't take long for the trio to reach their destination.

"A disco?" Arthur sputtered.

"You can't seriously have been expecting anything else at this point." Felix claimed.

Arthur nodded. Felix wasn't wrong.

Inside was almost overwhelming. People overflowed the space mingling near the entrance and dancing further in. The music was loud. The beat moved under Arthur's skin and felt as if his heart was pumping blood to the rhythm. He could understand how people would like this kind of place.

Torris leaned against his ear to talk over the sound of people and music. "There's a corner that is usually not crowded where we are going to meet."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement and followed his two friends. Felix led the way, weaving in and out of people gracefully opening the crowds for Torris and Arthur to follow. The deeper they went, the denser the crowd. Soon, all Arthur was seeing was the flick of Felix's skirt as he weaved. How could there be an open area with this many people?

Arthur tried to keep his eyes on Torris, because seeing Felix was near impossible. Occasionally, he'd grab Torris's shoulder so he could be led along. At one point he felt as if someone grabbed his ass, but chose to ignore it. He was drunk, with friends, and there was supposedly an open area ahead.

Torris took a quick right turn where the room opened up more allowing for the crowd to disperse naturally. As they walked the last few feet towards the corner the crowd dissipated and Arthur watched as Felix hugged the unnamed friend.

The two parted, still holding each others shoulders to talk. Arthur's heart dropped. Torris gave the friend a one sided hug in greeting. The boy messed with Torris's shaggy hair. Arthur still felt frozen. He should run, but his brain wouldn't communicate with any of his extremities.

Felix whispered in the boy's ear and pointed to Arthur. The boy looked and froze in surprise.

Felix introduced, "Francis this is Arthur, and Arthur this is Francis."

Arthur felt his hand lift and make a minute wave. Francis's shock turned into a huge grin.

"Arthur!" Francis went to hug him. Arthur didn't respond. He felt unable to look at his kind-of-friend. They hadn't talked since their fight, and the only person Arthur would want to see less out here was his dad.

Arthur muttered, "Hey, Francis."

"Look at you." Francis eyed Arthur up and down, taking in the unexpected appearance. Arthur continued to look down. He couldn't face Francis. His only response was to shift on his feet.

Much calmer Francis said, "Hey, come on, Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur swallowed and raised his eyes to look at Francis. As per usual, Francis looked great, even more so than normal because he was dressed how he wanted for going out. For some reason, seeing Francis like that always caused a red hot anger to swell in his chest. Francis didn't acknowledge Arthur's behavior other than to smile.

They stood in front of each other with Torris and Felix watching in confusion. After a moment, Francis spoke. "You look good, Arthur."

Arthur ran a hand through the hair he spent so much time working on. "Whatever. Are you going to pass any more judgement?"

"Pass judgement?"

"Like you always do," Arthur spat.

"Still haven't grown up from the other day it seems." Francis didn't speak with any malice. He stated it like a sad fact the way a teacher admits they are disappointed instead of mad. Felix gave Francis a look as if he was figuring something out. He turned to Torris as if he could mentally communicate it with him.

"I should have never come."

"That's not true, and you know it."

Arthur kept shifting. He knew he was reacting badly to everything, but was too pissed to consider it. "You don't know shit, Francis. You don't know anything about me."

Francis's face broke just like during the fight in their room. Arthur couldn't bare to look at it. He turned towards his other two friends who looked both surprised and curious.

"I… Sorry for ruining you night." With that, Arthur turned and faded into the crowd. He wanted to storm out, to run, but could only move so fast to get to the entrance. Once outside, the humid air hit his face, but he kept going. He ran down a few blocks until he got tired.

His breath was ragged and cheeks wet with tears he didn't realize were flowing steadily.

"Fuck," he screamed. Turning towards the nearest building, he kicked at the bricked wall forcefully.

He punched at the wall.

"Fuck."

Punched twice more alternating hands.

"Fuck."

He kept punching until he was out of breath holding one clenched fist against the wall. He stared at the ground. Fuck Francis. Fuck his family. Fuck getting his hopes up all the time. As if anyone actually could relate to him. His new friends were just as bad, thinking all he needed was Francis of all people - Francis with his perfect life, and perfect self, and perfect hair. Arthur clenched his jaw. Francis who thought he could fix Arthur. He wasn't some charity case. This was supposed to be a one time thing, so he could handle his family, but now that someone he sees regularly saw him, it's not. Francis won't let him live this down. He'll ask questions and demand answers.

He wished he could be normal. He wished he could have fun like everyone else. He wished he wasn't so strange and could just ignore how he felt and enjoy himself.

"You look like you could use some help, friend," A heavy, deep voice broke through the sounds of his ragged breathing.

Arthur sighed and stood up straight. "Look, I've heard that before, and it didn't work out. I don't need some bar buddy to try to get me out of my shell or some bullshit."

A smooth chuckle ringed in Arthur's ears. "I am not one for that."

Arthur turned the face the stranger guessing that he wouldn't leave until acknowledged. Surprisingly, it was the familiar face of the scarfed man he saw staring the night before. He stood tall in the same scarf wearing a smile as if he thought the entire scene was pleasant.

"Who are you?"

"Ivan, and you are?"

"Arthur." He did not put his hand out to shake. For once, he felt no need to analyze his handshake using all the facts his father taught him.

"You shouldn't take things out on your hands, yes?" Ivan nodded to Arthur's hands. Arthur looked at them to survey the damage. The alcohol had helped hide some of the pain, but not all of it. His knuckles were bleeding and skin was hanging off a few. He shrugged it off for the time being.

"Got any other options?"

"Want to smoke?" Ivan shrugged.

Arthur snorted. Just another person offering cigarettes in hopes it'll actually quell nerves. "Look, they don't actually calm me down, so I'll just…" Arthur lamely waved his arm at the wall as if he was actually about to go back to losing a fight against it.

Ivan laughed again confusing Arthur. "There's a lot of things you can smoke. How do you want to feel?"

Arthur shook his head. "Excuse me?"

Ivan rolled his eyes and dug through his jacket. He pulled out a blunt and reached to give it to Arthur. "Here."

Arthur took it. "Thanks, I guess. Do you have a light?" Ivan nodded and signaled to sit against the wall. Once seated, Ivan took the first drag and handed it to Arthur. That sat for a while, taking turns until Ivan waved Arthur off.

"I like other things more, so I'll just do it a little."

Arthur took a drag. He supposed he did feel calmer at least, but a lot could contribute to that. "What other stuff?"

There was a sparkle in Ivan's eyes. He shrugged, "Depends."

Arthur looked at the joint and nodded to himself. "Well, I'm fine with this for now."

Silence fell over the pair again. Suddenly, Ivan began speaking as he stared off. "Sometimes, people need to take things to feel something and sometimes nothing, you know? It's nice to be able to take something to distract you from the rest of the world. It's all shit, and those kinds of things help."

Apparently, it was vague sharing time for large Slavic men. Arthur peeked at Ivan to see that the man was staring at him expectantly. Arthur stated, "I get what you mean."

Ivan hummed. Arthur guessed he said the right thing. Ivan tapped Arthur on the knuckles. They had stopped bleeding and the blood had dried along his hands.

"So no more taking life out on your hands. You want to feel something? You want to be numb? I can give you things. I will not charge next time, okay? Just find me. I'm around."

Arthur nodded. "Sure." His response seemed to please Ivan who wore the same pleasant smile as before. Inside, Arthur was shocked. He was being accosted by a drug dealer. He really shouldn't have been surprised to find people like that in places like this, but still. He never would have expected someone like a drug dealer to actually be kind. Maybe this man understood Arthur and what he needed in a way the others did not.

Ivan stood and looked down at Arthur. "You are a handsome boy. You should not hurt yourself like that."

Arthur surveyed his hands again. They didn't look very good. "Yeah. Thanks for this." He motioned so Ivan knew what he meant.

"Find me soon, yes?"

"Uh - sure."

Ivan nodded. "Goodnight, Arthur."

Arthur raised a hand in farewell as the large man turned to leave. He watched him walk away as he continued to sit against the wall. Ivan was interesting to say the least. He was unnerving, but nice. Arthur leaned back to attempt to enjoy the high for what it was. He'd have to go home soon, since there was nowhere else to be.

After a few minutes, he stood and began a slow walk home. As he shuffled along, he picked at the skin on his knuckles trying to get any loose pieces off, but mostly only being successful in getting it to bleed again. Tonight was not a lucky night it seemed.

Everything felt off as he entered the back garden. He plopped onto the ground and eyed his cracked open window - the cyclops eye now felt mocking. With a sigh, his eyes gazed over the path he would have to take to get back up to the window. It was a lot of work and effort. He did it the night before, but he didn't feel like shit the night before. Now, he just wanted to lay down and wallow. He went back to picking at his skin. There'll be no way to hide the damage in the morning.

With that, he stood and walked over to a potted plant by the door. Underneath was the spare key. It was an emergency enough to account for using it. Once inside, he attempted to close the door and lock it as quietly as possible. Downstairs was the danger zone. If he was loud upstairs and woke up his brothers, he had a chance of talking himself out of any trouble. There was no chance if he woke up his parents.

He took a few minutes to prepare himself to go up the stairs. Certain steps creaked, but he was having trouble remembering which ones and if it was better to walk in the center or near the edge. He bounced on his toes to get his blood pumping. He was going to make a tiptoe run to the top.

With a deep breath, he bolted trying to stay light on his feet. A few stairs creaked and his steps weren't as quiet as they could have been. He stumbled at the top. He froze in the hall. Walt's light was on. Sometimes it was hard having a night owl as a brother. Arthur walked slowly to the bathroom and closed the door lightly behind him before turning on the light.

He looked even worse than the night before. If he was going to make this a habit, he needed to invest in better eyeliner, something that didn't smear as much when he cried. A chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop the sound. His hands were a mess and eyes bloodshot, yet make-up was his first thought. God, he really was a Nelly.

Following the steps he took the night before, he washed his face roughly. He splashed water on his hair and washed up his arms hoping to get the dirt, sweat, and other smells off him. He was careful of the cuts on his hands which looked better once he washed the excess blood off. He use a nail clipper to clip off any loose skin in hopes it would heal faster. He was hoping it wouldn't bruise and make it even more noticeable. He'd have to come up with an excuse, but at the moment was too exhausted.

There were a lot of things he'd have to come up with later. Who knows how best to handle the recent developments in the Francis situation? He'd want to talk about it. He'd try to trick Arthur into talking about it, and, god forbid, Arthur actually let anything slip. He looked down. The state of his hands were just the beginning.

Opening the door, he noted that Walt's light was still on. If he strained, he thought he could hear Walt moving around. Quickly, he dashed to his room in case his brother was going into the hall. Walt was another issue. He wouldn't stop until he talked with Arthur. He'd have to suck it up and just be prepared for anything.

He sighed. Now was not a time to think about his problems and try to face them. He could reflect on the evening tomorrow when his brain felt less muddled and his eyes weren't heavy with exhaustion.

* * *

A/N: So much life stuff going on. I haven't had a lot of time to write but am still a couple of chapters ahead, so I'm still keeping my upload schedule. I'm slowly getting to work on the poem stuff that becomes important in later chapters. Thanks for everyone who reached out. I've been trying to reply, but use mobile mostly, and, man, do the DMs here suck on mobile.

Also I made a fandom twitter (something separate from my real identity I can shitpost and advertise my fics on) and a discord to try to keep up with fandom, since people kind of jumped ship from tumblr. My twitter is {at}bethfrombackrow if you wanna talk on there. I'm also always taking recommendations for dicords to join. (I really hate how doesn't like linking to other places even using the at)

You'll hear from me soon.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7: An Inability to Say a Gentlemanly Goodbye_

Arthur woke to light streaming into his room and the sounds of birds. His body felt stiff and sore, and his eyes swollen. His rolled and stretched and rubbed trying to get the exhaustion out of his system. The bird chirping picked up again, sounding oddly loud. Arthur peaked out of his covers to see that he never closed his window or blinds the night before.

He muttered a string of curses as he got out of bed and latched the window close. The sun was still rising. The bright golden light and birds singing their good morning song should have felt pleasant, but it mostly annoyed Arthur. What a crappy day for good weather. He opened and closed his sore hands while he got dressed and prepared himself to go downstairs for breakfast. Despite everything that happened the evening and night before, he had to go back to being the perfect young gentleman. No excuses.

Somehow, Arthur was able to reintegrate himself into his family despite all recent events. The ease of filling his role so inconspicuously felt unnerving. So much had changed for him recently, yet, all seemed to be unnoticed by his family. They may have been choosing not to acknowledge their concern. At one point in the morning, Arthur caught his mom eyeing his hands, but she did not ask any questions. Like Arthur, they prefered to avoid confrontation when it could be avoided. Plus, Arthur was a teenager, so they could also just be accepting any strangeness as average teenage things.

Although the family navigated around each other this way, they still pushed for familial closeness. That is why Arthur found himself in the kitchen eating lunch with his mom and brothers. Scott ate his food fast, but at a speed where you couldn't tell if he wanted to leave or just was starving. After spending enough time with Scott, Arthur knew it was the former, but no one ever wanted to offend their mom. Walt ate at a normal pace, chatting with the group. Arthur picked at his food. He hadn't been hungry as much recently but knew it would cause unwanted attention if he didn't eat. His mom beamed, glad to spend time with the boys.

Once Scott finished his food and left, Arthur's mom turned to him.

"I'm glad you've been taking Walt's news well. I was worried you'd be sad about it, since you both are so close."

Walt began shaking his head no vehemently.

Confused Arthur said, "What are you talking about?"

Their mom looked between them surprised and guilty. "Oh! It's getting so close, Walt, I thought you talked about it already."

"Haven't had the chance, mom," Walt sighed.

"Sorry, hun, but you really should have by now." She gave him a significant mom look that said without words, "you getter get on that, then," grabbed their plates, and went in the kitchen to clean up.

"Finally free to talk, Artie?" Walt asked lightly.

Arthur nodded unsure. At the response, Walt signaled that they go upstairs. Once in Walt's room, he closed the door and sat down against the bed, patting a space for Arthur who hesitated before sitting as well.

"Want to talk about anything?" Walt asked sincerely.

"Aren't you the one with something to share," Arthur accused.

"Yeah, and I will. I wanted to ask. You've been off recently."

"That's your opinion."

"Want to talk about what happened to your hands?"

Arthur sighed and closed his hands into fists. He really didn't.

Walt watched Arthur intently. "Okay, I mean tell me what happened to your hands because I am not above beating on people who hurt my brother."

Arthur laughed both at how ridiculous his brother was and at the idea of Walt having to beat him up.

"No need. I had a fight with a brick wall."

Walt snorted.

Arthur grinned and waved his hands. "You should see the other guy."

Walt grabbed one of Arthur's hands to inspect his knuckles. They were scratched and bruised, but could have been much worse. Definitely not the hands you'd expect a nerdy teen to weild.

Walt prodded casually, "Did it have anything to do with the number you got the other night?"

Arthur forcibly took his hand back. He forgot Walt had seen that and responded defiantly, "Actually, no."

"You can talk to me about it. I won't tell mom and dad."

Arthur sat stiffly. This was what he was waiting for: someone to reach out. This was his chance. Not tell mom and dad had to mean Walt knew something and would keep his secret. All Arthur needed was to talk to someone who would keep his secret and not push him. But if Walt really knew, wouldn't he have shared about himself by now? Scott could have been lying, but that seemed unlikely considering how serious Scott had been. Plus, if everything their parents did actually worked on Walt like he said, then, wouldn't Walt just tell Arthur to do the same thing. He already knew it wouldn't work. There was no changing what he was.

Considering Arthur's rigidness and lack of immediate response, Walt continued, "People sneak out all the time."

"What?"

Walt gave Arthur an empathetic look. "I know you snuck out the other night. I'm just saying I'm here if you want to share anything."

"Aren't you the one with things to share?" Arthur quipped back.

Walt grinned, distracted by the excitement of his own news. "Yes. Yes I am."

"Well, on with it."

"I'm going to Wales."

Arthur blinked. "Wales?"

Walt beamed. "Yes!"

"You're very excited for something like a visit to Wales."

Walt shook his head. Arthur wasn't getting it. "It's not just a visit, Arthur. I applied to this special science program. I'll go to school there and can assist on these experiment things. I'm going to help conduct research on sheep!"

Arthur chuckled at Walt's excitement. He may have been the only person in the world to get excited about the prospect of working with sheep.

"So, you're going to be in Wales the rest of the summer? That's not a lot of time for sheep studies."

Walt rubbed at his face. "That's the thing. It's not for the rest of the summer."

Arthur felt his heart stuttering. He knew what was happening but didn't want to acknowledge it. Walt was the only person keeping him sane here. Yes, there had been tension recently, but Walt was still his number one. He needed Walt. He couldn't do this. He didn't want to be forced to listen to Walt's clarification.

"It's for the year."

Clenching his fists on his knees, Arthur tried to hide his anger. "Great. That's… really great for you."

"I know it'll be different around here, but it's a great opportunity. We can talk on the phone and write. You can write to me about everything happening to you, and no one can overhear and…" He dragged off at the look Arthur's face was taking.

A knot was forming in Arthur's throat. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't let Walt know how much it hurt. He couldn't ruin something great for his favorite person. He was just caught off guard. He'd been such an idiot. Why had he decided to avoid Walt of all people? Walt never judged him and was always such a solace. Maybe he wouldn't have needed the disruption of sneaking out, if he had been spending time with Walt. His brother always knew what to say as if he knew what was wrong with Arthur without it actually being known. His eyes watered, but he kept the tears at bay.

Crying felt ridiculous, but he had been under such emotional stress, his body needed to release it somehow. The back and forth of the internal struggle he kept hidden away was starting to break out. The conversation was already off the rails. If there was any time to go for gold, now was the time.

"Anything," Arthur's voice cracked but he swallowed able to maintain it's steadiness, "Anything else you want to tell me? Anything about you?"

Walt looked at Arthur intently. "I promise I'm not leaving you behind, Arthur."

Arthur blinked fast to keep tears inside his head where they belonged. "That's not… Not really what I meant."

Walt rubbed at his face. For once, he looked confused. Arthur couldn't remember the last time that he ever looked like that. Walt was the person who seemed to know everything. He always had answers and knowledge. He was the smartest person Arthur has ever known. Yet, here he was being confused by Arthur.

"Arthur, are you sure nothing's been happening with you? I can't really read between the lines. I… I can't postpone leaving, but we can double down on the time left."

Arthur froze. There really wasn't much time left, even if Walt left exactly when school started. Programs away from home usually required you to move in early. God, it could be only a week or two before he was gone. The fact that Walt was okay waiting this long to say anything was appalling. Arthur looked at Walt to try to read his face, but noticed his brother was once again looking at the cuts on his hands.

Rubbing his knuckles Arthur muttered, "The brick was kind of rough."

They made eye contact. How could Arthur forget that one of Walt's talents was communicating with just looks. He must have inherited it from their mom. The look felt serious, not harsh, just a serious and comforting gaze, a silent opportunity to say more.

"I forgot you saw the number."

Walt raised an eyebrow. "I notice things." They sat for a moment before Walt rolled his eyes and moved his hand, an invitation for Arthur to keep talking.

"What do you think I've been up to?" Arthur was always keen to know what others thought of him. Right now, he wanted Walt to talk rather than share.

"Come on, you don't want me to start making random guesses." Looked like Arthur was not getting away with remaining silent.

With a deep breath, Arthur confessed, "It was a friend's. I'm joining a band." Sometimes, some honesty was best to hide the things you don't want to talk about. In the many years that followed, Arthur looked back on this choice. He will look back on the decision to derail the conversation and not share his struggles. Like the decision to go out that night, this is one he will not be able to forget easily - choosing to say the one truth that could distract from any real confession just because he was frustrated with how Walt was not sharing his own experiences when given the opportunity.

That is what he will feel, but, then, he did not feel those things. Then, Walt laughed. He laughed with his entire body, head tilted towards the ceiling. Arthur flushed thinking, "And Walt wondered why I don't share more often."

"Arthur, our very own rockstar."

"It's not funny."

"No, it's not. I'm laughing because it's unexpected. Out of anything you were going to say, I was not expecting you to say you were joining a band. That's definitely worth sneaking out for."

Arthur wondered what Walt had been expecting him to share, but didn't draw attention to the slip. Instead he clarified, "Don't get too excited. I just offered to write some songs. This guy's singer is gone, and I'm going to help out."

Walt beamed, "That's so great. I'm glad you finally found an outlet."

"Finally?" Arthur questioned. Walt paused, his grin slipping away. "Finally found an outlet?"

"Everyone needs an outlet."

"I have a creative outlet," Arthur claimed assuming what his brother could mean by outlet.

"From the family?"

"It's away from the family."

"Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Pick a fight! You always pick fights when you're defensive."

"Oh, and I'm defensive about extracurriculars now?"

"Who knows? Did those extracurriculars make you beat the shit out of walls?"

Arthur's eyes widened. He inhaled seething. "If you cared so much you wouldn't be leaving like this." He wanted to let out anger with each word, but by the end of the sentence, he just sounded sad and broken.

"It's a good opportunity," Walt stated not looking at Arthur.

"One you waited to tell me."

Walt sighed, "I was waiting for the right moment."

"No. I remember what mom said. You were worried your crazy brother Arthur would lose his shit, and you didn't want to be around the trainwreck for longer than necessary." Arthur stood up. He lifted his arms. "Here's your fucking wish. You won't have to deal with my bullshit for your last week."

Before Walt could think of something to say, Arthur spun on his feet and slammed the door behind him, leaving Walt sitting on the floor stunned.

Entering his room Arthur paused. He didn't want to stay here. Staying meant that someone would come in, try to talk to him, make him feel even more like shit, make him apologize and on and on and on. No. He was leaving. He grabbed a few things, stuffed them in a bag, and left. He ignored everyone as he ran down the stairs and bolted out the door.

Outside, he let his feet lead, so that his mind could wander.

Everything was dumb. Arthur was dumb. His brother was dumb. His entire family was dumb. He can't believe that he was some codependent idiot. His entire family had known about Walt's opportunity and chose not to say anything to Arthur. They all must think he's some kind of fucked up black sheep barely holding on.

Arthur mentally scoffed. It was true. He was a deformed black sheep trying to fit in with the best of the flock. Yet, he always thought he got away with it. He was an idiot. Walt knew about him sneaking out. For all he knows, everyone knew about everything. They were playing him hoping for the day he figured his shit out. That day wouldn't come. Some things could not be figured out. Some things could not be changed. At this point, he was better off being everything they thought he was, a complete fuck up.

He wanted to punch something, but also wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. He may be insanely pissed at Walt, but he also needed his brother. He was one of the few people in the world that kept him grounded. When Arthur felt like he didn't fit in, Walt was there. When he was falling apart, Walt could usually pick up the pieces enough for Arthur to finish the job without even having th hear the problem. Walt got him, and now he is leaving. He was leaving and was going to try to leave without letting Arthur know.

Arthur wiped his face and pulled at his hair. He wasn't close to a lot of people, and didn't have many friends. This shouldn't be a big deal, but it was. Walt was one of the few people that could make him feel better recently. Arthur paused. There was another time he was able to calm down. He shook the thought off. He'd think about it later. Instead, he continued walking and dwelling on how pathetic he felt.

After a while, Arthur felt no better, but was getting tired of walking. He took stalk of where he was and stopped walking. He realized where he was instinctually going. His own subconscious was an asshole.

"You've got to be kidding me," Arthur muttered as he sat down on the curb.

He had been walking to Francis's house.

Knowing the route to Francis's house by heart was annoying in of itself considering how little Arthur had actually walked there, especially recently. Going there instinctually at a time like this? Now that was just sad. Arthur sighed into his knees.

He could go. Francis would definitely cheer him up. He always had a way of making Arthur feel welcome and good. The problem was that Francis liked to talk about and try to address all Arthur's problems headon, and Francis could not fix them. Arthur couldn't even fix them. They both viewed his problems very differently. Still, he could go to Francis's house.

Arthur lingered on the curb. As tempting as it was, going didn't feel like a good idea. When Arthur closed his eyes, he saw Francis at the disco; he saw Francis after their fight. Arthur kept hurting Francis anyways. Probably best to stay away. Besides, who knows if they were even friends after this. Arthur could only be an asshole for so long before Francis understood that he wasn't worth the time.

No matter how much time passed, Arthur did not want to go home. Going home meant putting on a mask and pretending things were fine. He didn't have the energy. He needed to get his mind off his flaws and spend some time relaxing. He needed something to help calm him down and give him a break.

He stood up. Might as well go see someone who could help. He began walking.

Finding his way to the pub got easier every time. Getting in was also easier. Downing a drink or two? Now, that was the easiest thing of all. What was hard was finding who Arthur was looking for. A tall, slavic man should be easy to spot, if only Arthur knew where he was. When he last talked to Ivan, he did not take into account that he would actually want to find the man again. The conversation seemed like a one time thing, but many things that seemed like one time things were turning out to be much more recently.

Ivan was here the first night, if he lingered, maybe he'd see him again. Not running into Ivan wasn't the end of the world. There were drinks to be had as long as Arthur had money. Being a lightweight was good in instances like this. Drinks aside, the wait was good because it gave Arthur time to think of what to say.

He could imagine it. "Yes, Mr. Ivan, sir, do you have any of the drugs that will make me not feel like this?"

He definitely could come up with something better. For now, he'd enjoy being away from everyone that knew him.

Arthur had no idea how much time passed when he caught sight of Ivan. The man was chatting with the same Asian person Arthur saw him with before. Maybe they were together, but then again, maybe not. Arthur watched from a distance. He didn't like the idea of interrupting. Ivan seemed nice, but an air of business surrounded the possible ordeal. Luckily, he didn't have to decide because Ivan made eye contact with him. As if the pleasant grin was a magnet, Arthur felt himself pulled to where Ivan and his friend were standing.

"Arthur! It is nice to see you, again." Ivan exclaimed. His friend peered at Arthur curiously.

"Nice seeing you too." Arthur turned towards the friend and put out a hand. "I'm Arthur."

The friend took his hand and shook it with equal strength. "Yoa."

Arthur nodded, mentally acknowledging his failed attempt at using a name to help dictate gender.

"How are you doing, Arthur? Taking better care of your hands?"

Arthur scratched at his head. "Actually, about that…"

Ivan tilted to look at Arthur's hand as if he believed Arthur was actually fighting walls again. Arthur brushed the still healing cuts on his knuckles subconsciously.

Arthur continued, "I've been having a bad time again, and I thought you could help like before."

Ivan's eyes lit up. "Better than before." He looked around briefly before leaning in. "What can I help you with?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know for sure. I feel like shit and need something to not feel like shit."

Ivan laughed. "I like the honesty."

"A few drinks will do that to you."

"Indeed." Ivan seemed to think for a moment. "I keep my promises, and I said this will be free. Any other time, it'll cost you something."

"I understand, so… there's no time to start something new like the present."

The grin that grew on Ivan's face didn't look nearly as pleasant as before. Yao crossed their arms and spoke up, "Just give him what you have, and teach him to do it. We don't have all night."

"Teach me?"

Yao rolled his eyes. "You look young. If you want to sneak back to where you came from and not advertise what you've been up to, maybe don't smoke it?"

Ivan chuckled and commented to his friend, "Smart." Yoa just gestured at Arthur with a significant look.

"I was not prepared for you, so you'll just have to take what I have. Not a lot of options right now," Ivan stated while Arthur nodded along. "Follow me." Ivan gestured for Arthur to follow by pointing to the bathroom. Arthur had a brief flashback to Torris's friend, Raivis but quickly shook it away. He needed this and was done listening to everyone else.

He found himself standing next to Ivan in the largest stall. He stood with his arms crossed. The fluorescent light in the bathroom buzzed lightly like a distant warning. The flood of light sobered Arthur up enough to make his nerves come back with full force. Ivan was digging through his massive coat for something, a look of concentration on his face. After a moment he pulled out a needle.

"This was prepped for someone else, but if you are late, you don't get what you want," Ivan said.

Arthur shook his head and let out a breath. "I don't know if I can do that. That's a lot more than I was expecting."

Ivan tilted his head. "It is not that much."

"No, I'm talking about the whole needle thing."

Now, Ivan shook his head. "The things I have to snort are for someone else who might actually be on time and is paying. Right now, I can just give you this for free."

Arthur bit his lip and eyed the syringe. He wanted to something, and, at this point, did he really care what happened to his body? He nodded slowly. "Okay, yeah."

Ivan smiled in his pleasant way. "Great! Let's sit and give me your arm."

Arthur never liked shots much. The pinch of the needle was almost too much, but after everything he's been through, he barely acknowledged the sting now. He was more focused on the almost clear liquid being pushed into his skin and on the words Ivan was saying about the process of doing it. The last thing he ever expected was for a drug dealer to be a good teacher.

The whole thing took no more than a minute. Ivan leaned against the wall explaining, "And now we wait a few minutes."

Arthur inspected his arm for a moment. He shot an inquisitive gaze at the man who was choosing to stay and sit with him. "Why do you do this?"

"I think people should be allowed to do what they please to make themselves feel the way they want."

"I meant why do you just give things away like this? You don't have to stay, but you are."

"I find that doing this is a way to make friends and make sure they don't leave." There was something deeper behind what Ivan was saying, and Arthur could read between the lines. An unhealthy coping mechanism supplying other people's unhealthy coping mechanisms and the world goes round and round.

"You are friendly. You've been very friendly."

That sat in silence for a moment. Arthur felt his blood rushing under his skin. He was tired earlier but now was starting to feel energized. Ivan was so nice to do this. God, he was really nice. Arthur shifted. The ground was comfortable enough, but the light was starting to feel a bit much.

"You are fucking awesome. This is great." Arthur broke up in a laugh making Ivan chuckle.

"Feels better, right?"

"You have no idea." Arthur sighed and slumped a little sinking into the euphoric feeling. Psychically, he felt great, too. The thrumming under his skin was nice, and complimented the rush in his brain nicely.

Arthur began to tell Ivan more about how great this was and how the man was good for doing this for him.

Ivan cut in, "I am not unselfish. It's always fun to see how people react, and, like I said, it helps keep friends close. Plus, you'll owe me next time."

Arthur turned to look at Ivan with a grin. The slavic man was now sitting flush against him. Arthur could tell he was coming nicely into his high and that this was something he would want to feel again.

"What will I owe you?" Arthur breathed heavily. He shifted to adjust himself in his pants. He felt good.

Ivan ran a hand down Arthur's arm and watched the boy shiver with a dark gaze. "We can figure something out when the time comes, yes?"

Arthur nodded. His mouth was dry. He moved his tongue around as if that would help with the feeling, but all it did was make it worse. Not having the brainpower to care how he looked in front of Ivan, he reached into his pants. While he was making himself more comfortable, he squeezed with a groan. His eyes met Ivan who looked at him with a hungry gaze.

"That stuff makes me feel amazing," Arthur sighed slowly dragging his hand from his pants. He smirked at the was Ivan's eyes followed the movement. Finally, he let himself enjoy a moment like this - holding the attention of another man, being considered attractive, feeling the power of it.

A click echoed around the room as someone else stumbled into the bathroom. Ivan's eyes flicked away from Arthur, now dark with annoyance.

"We might want to go back out before you come down. It doesn't last that long."

Arthur nodded and stood to follow Ivan out. The man at the urinal gave them an amused look, but said nothing. The dimness of the bar felt amazing on Arthur's eyes. He hadn't realized how much the lighting in the bathroom was bugging him. While they were in the bathroom, the bar had become busy and a band had started a set.

He lingered around Ivan for a while longer chatting. Ivan let him know a few of the places he hangs around in case Arthur wanted to find him again. Arthur preened when Ivan called him clever for finding him so easily. Being complimented by a stranger so openly filled Arthur's chest with a puffy feeling as if someone was spinning cotton candy in the gaping holes he normally felt inside himself. All the good feelings could have been the drugs and alcohol, but maybe it was the atmosphere and company.

As the high seemed to peak and sway, Arthur decided he might as well go back to drinking. He offered to buy one for Ivan, but the man shook his head and claimed he should get going because he had to meet the guy who wanted the cocaine Arthur took. Arthur laughed along with Ivan despite not really finding anything funny.

They separated. Arthur got his drink, and the rest of the night was a blur of events he got to reflect on on the walk home.

Most of his reflecting took place in the back garden. The grass crunched under his pacing feet. His unlocked window mocked him from above. If he was going to make a habit out of this, he was going to sneak properly and use the window. He shook out his arms and slapped his face as if all the chemicals could be forced out of him with a few harsh pats.

He sat against the tree deciding to let time do some of the sobering. Guilt from everything that happened started to seep into him. All the puffy feelings from before were turning into a thick, heavy mush weighing him down. He should be regretting it. He knew he should, but he couldn't get himself to. For the first time in a long time, he had felt good.

He dragged his hand over his face pausing at his lips. He made out with a guy at the bar, and barely remembered it. What a joke: finally letting himself to give in and barely remembering what should have been a big moment. As much as he hated when Francis predicted things about him, the other teen was right about Arthur being a closet romantic. He tried to push out thoughts of Francis and focus on his blurred memories of the other boy at the bar.

He knows he made some move, did some shots, and that they ended up sloppily in a corner, but his brain couldn't focus on most of the details. He felt like he betrayed a part of himself, the part that actually was enjoying reading Pride and Prejudice and wanted to be able to wax poetic about his love life the same way. Shoving his tongue down the throat of a stranger in a bar while some band thrashed about to a song about anarchism didn't fit the mental picture.

Mental images were just fantasy, and fantasies were bullshit. He liked everything that happened. There was a special rush about hooking up with a stranger, with a guy. Arthur closed his eyes. He felt the rough lips of the other boy against his. The way the other felt in his arm. How their bodies felt slotted together: sweaty, rough, and hard. The way his skin vibrated as the other groaned against him. Maybe some things that are wrong are meant to be. The scene was not pristine or romantic, but Arthur thought he could write notebooks full of poems about the way it made him feel. Recently, he had been letting feelings lead, so maybe he should try to judge himself less on the visuals and more on the intangibles.

Arthur opened his eyes to look at his house. He thought of the four people sleeping inside, soon to be three. He did so much for their sake, sacrificed so much of himself and his happiness and for what? Appearances were only worth so much. Yet, the reasons he always gave himself started creeping up from the back of his mind. There's always a reason for everything.

Swaying as he stood, Arthur began the feat of climbing up to the roof and into his bedroom. He stripped his sweaty clothes off, closed his cracked window, and fell into bed. The night made him feel good, and he would hold onto that.

The house woke up while Arthur remained sleeping, but this time, the curtains were closed so that the sun wouldn't wake him up. Instead, a brother's presence woke him up. Arthur blinked the sleep away from his eyes and groaned as he tossed and turned. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like shit, nothing like the boy from the bar. This is what he deserved for doing all that. He sat up with a sigh rubbing his head and face.

"Holy fuck," Arthur scrambled in surprise at the figure sitting at his desk. "Dude, what the fuck?"

Walt had the decency to look embarrassed. "I didn't think you came home last night. I came in here to think, and," he gestured lames at the shirtless Arthur in bed, "I wasn't sure how to wake you up after everything."

Arthur nodded along and kept stretching trying to wake himself up more. At least now he knew the window sneaking was working. "I snuck back in pretty late."

"You okay?"

Arthur barked a laugh. "You really want to ask that right now?"

"I want to try talking again if you're into it."

"I don't know if I'm into it, but we probably should."

Walt shifted in the chair as if preparing to speak, but Arthur raised a hand to stop him.

"We should, but I just woke up. Can you wait for me to shower and put on some clothes? I don't want to have a serious conversation half naked. Plus, I smell, and my mouth tastes like absolute garbage."

Walt laughed at the face Arthur pulled and stood up. "Okay, yeah, sure. Just promise you won't run off on me."

Arthur gave him an okay. At the click of the door closing, he fell back into the bed. He could not catch a break, could he?

* * *

A/N: Yay! New chapter! Sorry about the wait - I moved and got a dog. Also I'm still having trouble coming up with the content of Arthur's notebooks, and it'll be important soon, so I'm trying to stretch the chapters I have written.

Do you guys read hetalia fics other places regularly? I'm considering uploading in multiple places but can't tell if the fandom actually is more active on something like AO3 or not. Double Also, I want to post some newer (shorter) stories to celebrate the 15th anniversary of the show if anyone has requests/pairing requests. (I used to do the kink meme and was going to fill a ton of requests there, but there doesn't seem to be an active one)

See ya'll soon!


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur stood in front of Walt's closed door. He put off talking as long as he possibly could. He took a long shower, ate the slowest meal ever, and lingered a while. There was no mental prep considering that the conversation could take any turn. With a deep breath Arthur knocked.

Walt opened the door with a smile. "Ready to talk?"

He moved giving space for Arthur to come in. Instead Arthur pivoted and waved him arm. "Come on."

He led Walt into his room and sat in the desk chair letting the momentum spin him around slowly. Walt stood for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. Awkwardness grew from the floor and infected the silence in the air. Arthur looked up and continued his slow spinning. He slowed about to speak, but Walt beat him to it.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

"I was a bit of an ass." Arthur stopped the chair so he could look at his brother.

"And I deserved it."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, you did."

They stared at each other. Arthur felt the urge to start spinning again, but the serious look on Walt's face kept him still.

"I really didn't know how to bring it up."

Arthur scoffed, "Easy. You just say you are going away for a bit. Like, come on, Walt, you always push me to tell you everything about me, and then don't do the same?" Arthur may have spoken too intensely for a conversation that was supposed to be about Wales.

Walt stuttered a little trying to find the best way to start what he wanted to say. "I got it in my head that telling you would hurt you and was trying to think of the best way. In the end, I was just selfishly putting it off."

Arthur pursed his lips. Walt always focused on the lesser things Arthur said. They shared a look, Arthur raised an eyebrow. He wanted his brother to speak to all of what was said and had no problem stealing Walt's silent treatment schtick.

"You know, I always felt like an outcast in the family, right?" Arthur leaned forward holding his breath. He wanted to agree - yes, yes he did know - but didn't want to stop Walt from talking. "I guess, I saw that happening to you but maybe even more. I found a way to be relatively happy while still being here, but you have a different personality and stuff. I notice things, Arthur, and I realized I had a chance to help, to be there for you. That's why I want you to share all the time. I can tell you need it."

"And you want to be a fixer," Arthur muttered.

"I'm the older brother. I know how hard it is to be different, and realized I can help so you wouldn't have to learn the hard way how to accept that."

Arthur shifted in the chair, taking a moment to grip the armrests before rubbing his face. He needed to keep his cool. Supposedly, they were talking about music and literature, and it wouldn't do good to overreact.

"Shit sucks," Arthur whispered with a dry grin. Walt chuckled.

"I felt, still feel, bad about taking away the ability for you to rant and be different at home with someone else."

"You know, it's not actually that big of a deal."

"Arthur…"

"No, I get it, and you get it. It fucking sucks. You've been there when I can't leave and needed to reach out, but there's only so much you can do. I guess I've been having a hard time with you here, so what difference will it make, you know?"

"I have to accept brothers can't fix everything." Walt tilted his head trying to mentally hold Arthur in place. "Unless you want to talk about anything now."

Arthur let out a loud groan. He observed Walt a moment. His brother sat on the bed patiently. Arthur swallowed. "Brothers can't fix everything."

Walt rubbed his hands up and down his legs a little irritation bleeding through. "But older brothers can give advice, right?"

Arthur blinked. The turn in conversation surprised him. "I… Sure, yeah, you always give good advice."

Walt smirked at the compliment but it didn't reach his eyes. He patted his legs loudly and shifted so he was sitting cross legged. "Well, I have a lot to say, so get pumped. Firstly, fuck everyone else."

Arthur tried to hold it in, but ended up letting out a loud, hysterical laugh.

"That wasn't the most delicate way of putting it, but I mean it. Everyone wants to push ideas on you and tell you how to be. Arthur, you can only ever be what you are. You have to remember that. Mom and dad, the people they are around, they think you can change people and that it's this easy thing that requires a little discipline. It's not. It's never worth hurting yourself to fit into whatever box people want you to be in."

Arthur closed his eyes. Some of what Walt was saying reminded Arthur of Francis. "Some things aren't good to be."

"I guess, but you get to decide. You get to figure that stuff out on your own."

Arthur bit his lip in thought.

Walt continued, "Remember when we used to sit in my room and just listen to music? Supposedly, two brothers listening to experimental music was something we shouldn't have been, but that's just what some people think. Some people think you shouldn't be a little shit with your friend by calling your brother illiterate, but others think it's hilarious. Everyone has an opinion, but there's a point where yours is the most important. You're young, and that means right now you should be figuring out all that kind of stuff by making mistakes and trying different things."

Arthur's lip twitched up at Walt's attempt at humor. Instead of acknowledging the heavy statements his brother made, he chose to focus on the joke.

"I'm not a little shit, and me and Francis aren't talking."

He didn't know why he said it. He didn't really want to talk about everything that had been happening with Francis lately or about the crush he just couldn't seem to shake off. Yet, he still said it, so maybe he actually did.

"Why aren't you talking to Francis?"

Arthur shrugged as if the move of his shoulders could turn back time and make him swallow his previous words back down. "I just said we weren't."

"As if Francis would ever not talk to you."

"Yeah, okay, fine, I've been trying to avoid Francis."

Walt's lips twitched with hidden laughter. "Trying?"

"The world likes to punish me."

This time Walt did laugh. "You know that's not true. Besides, what did Francis do that was so bad? He's outgoing, but not mean."

"Nothing. I decided I didn't want to hang out with him anymore."

"You're not being an ass to someone because of stuff your family says about them are you?"

"That's not…" Arthur's voice trailed off. It wasn't everything, but it was one of the reasons for their first fight, and there was no way Arthur was going to try to explain everything else that had been running through his head.

"So, how about one last piece of advice?" Walt asked after a quiet moment.

"Please don't tell me that I should apologize or something."

"Not where I was going. When I'm gone, don't push everyone away. I know you're this introvert who sits with stuff, but sometimes you need others and sometimes they say things and do things you don't like. Doesn't mean you should cut off all the support."

"Yeah. Okay."

Walt stood grinning, ready to leave. Arthur tilted his head, a dark thought entering his mind. "Do you follow all this advice?"

Walt paused. "Yes, or at least I try to."

"I think." Arthur pursed his lips trying to find the right words. He didn't want to pick a fight, but it was hard to make his point without using fighting words. "It can be hard to heed your advice when you join in on judgement, too. You can't act like it's just everyone else that judges and tries to bend the world to their will. It means, uh, it means there could be some flaws in what you say."

Walt walked closer to lean against the desk. "I don't get it."

"Like the other night at dinner, when everyone was talking about Tino."

Walt's face dropped and a guilty expression grew. "Do you know Tino?"

Arthur shook his head no. It wasn't a lie. He only met Tino's boyfriend. After a pause where Walt didn't say anything, Arthur met his eye and stated, "He sounded a little like Francis."

Walt stood stiffly, the guilty look from his face bleeding down his body emanating off his form. At least Arthur could tell Walt wasn't happy about what was being implied. His brother stuttered over a possible response. He couldn't find a way to articulate the jumble in his head before Arthur continued speaking.

"Scott told me everyone has trouble fitting in."

Arthur could feel the way Walt closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "Having deep conversations with Scott all of a sudden?"

"Not really. You know how he is. We had time to do the brother bonding thing when we were with dad."

Walt traced the desk with his hand watching the way his finger outlined the books and notebooks. "He does have his moments."

"That he does." Arthur continued to watch Walt's face attempting to decipher all the emotions shifting on it. Walt paused his hand and let his fingers tap on a book softly.

"I am not perfect. Sometimes I am the ass out of the two of us." Arthur snorted and Walt turned to lean fully against the desk. "Francis is good, and I shouldn't have laughed at anything said about Tino. The guy doesn't deserve that even behind his back."

"Okay."

"You'll still think about everything I said? About having a support system and being yourself? I really want you to take care of yourself when I leave."

"Yeah, I can do that."

Walt gave Arthur a small smile. "Good." He reached and ruffed Arthur's hair. Arthur half-heartedly pushed his hand away.

Arthur sat on Walt's advice for a while. He had no plans to reconcile with Francis any time soon. He had found a way to be himself without having to deal with everything, and Francis was a temptation he was not ready to acknowledge. Walt's advice was good, and, despite his faults, what he said made sense. Arthur could take care of himself and deal with his problems.

With the mental strength given by Walt, Arthur did take good care of himself. He wrote pages of poems, hung out with Walt, and found the time to call Vlad about meeting up. Having Walt nearby helped him cope with everything, even if he never talked about it. Sadly, Walt could only spare so much time before having to fall into the routine of packing and planning his trip. Arthur hated disturbing people when they had things to do. Plus, he felt a thrumming under his skin. He needed to talk to someone, but couldn't get past the fear. What he needed was to be able to not think.

That's how Arthur found himself pacing his room. He needed to be able to handle himself with Walt gone. He could handle Scott's puff jokes, his dad pushing him to act certain ways and his mom's glances. Yet, Arthur had a taste of freedom in a way. With a sigh, he opened his window. Just a few drinks to get his mind off Walt leaving, and, then, he'd be fine.

He'd been out a few times since his conversation with Walt. Going out was his way of being himself it seemed. Sadly, being himself came with a price tag that Arthur couldn't afford as often as he'd like. He was slowly figuring out how to finagle his way into free drinks, but Ivan's prices were a little steep for a sixteen-year-old. He needed to do that kind of stuff less anyways. A promise to take care of himself meant a promise to take care of his body. Therefore, alcohol would have to do for now - alcohol and maybe another guy. Besides, being himself meant giving in sometimes and letting himself drown his sorrows with liquor and men in the dark corners.

Arthur climbed onto the roof and slid the window mostly closed behind him. He climbed down with little effort, landing on his feet softly. He shivered at the cold air. In a fit of self expression, he ripped up an t-shirt so that he didn't look so stuffy all the time. As for the jeans, Arthur told himself the tears helped them fit better and that they weren't just from failed attempts of climbing up to his window while wearing pants he practically grew out of.

The night went by fast for Arthur as if he was living his life in fast forward skipping from one scene to the next. He was walking down the street. He was in a pub. Buy a drink. Have another drink. Accept a drink from some man. A shot toasted to Walt. Accept a drink. Be outside. The world spins. God dammit the world would not stay still. Knock on a door.

The world paused, rewound one scene back and began playing at normal speed.

An inebriated Arthur pounded on a door. He leaned into the wood to balance himself better. He knocked again and pushed himself off the door with an exaggerated sway. A look of concentration was on his face as he patted at his hair. He was on a mission and needed to look the part. He lifted a fist to knock again, but this time the door opened. Arthur pulled the fist back and put it by his head as he leaned against the wall both to balance himself and to look cool.

"'Ello, Francis," Arthur slurred.

"Arthur?" Francis stepped back as Arthur stumbled into the house. Not knowing how else to handle the situation, Francis closed and locked the door behind him.

"You look great tonight, as always." Arthur stated matter-of-factly as he spun around taking in the house. He turned to grin at a confused looking Francis, raking his eyes up and down his form. Francis had on pajama pants and a robe. His hair was in a messy bun, a few strands hanging loose around his face. Despite his concern, Francis couldn't help but smile at the state of his usually tight-laced friend.

"Do you need me to call someone?"

Arthur walked up to Francis criss crossing his feet with each step. "I came here to see you." He punctuated his statement with a smirk and poke to Francis's clothed chest. Arthur frowned. Francis was not meeting his gaze; rather, seemed to be deliberately looking away. Arthur stepped forward again, noting how Francis swallowed.

"What happened to you shirt?"

"Huh?" Arthur looked down. He was in fact bare-chested. He ran a hand over his chest and down his stomach as if he would be able to feel what he couldn't see. Yet, the mystery of his missing shirt was not one he cared much for. Instead, he stepped back, putting his weight on one foot. "Like what you see?"

"You're drunk." Francis stated for lack of anything better to do. "And very lucky my parents are out of town." With how often they are gone, Arthur would have to be lucky for them to be in town, which is why he hadn't even considered it a possibility.

"Well, you are attracted to men."

Francis crossed his arms defensively the amusement from before leaving his face. Sensing a response, Arthur put a finger to Francis lips leaning in close. Francis widened his eyes and leaned back slightly suddenly realizing how close he was to the wall. Arthur lowered his hand but didn't move back at all.

Whispering, he stepped closer making Francis step back against the wall, "which is great because so am I."

Francis visibly swallowed, eyes trained on Arthur's face so as not to let his eyes wander. At Arthur's admission, he turned his head away, but that didn't stop the grin Arthur formed as he noticed the way Francis's breathing had been picking up.

"You don't," Francis cleared his throat, "You don't want to be having this conversation like this."

"You're right." Arthur placed a hand on Francis's chest. Using just his eyes, Francis glanced to look at Arthur's face which hadn't changed much since he started talking. Arthur began rubbing his thumb back and forth. Francis clenched his jaw. "I didn't come here to talk, Francis."

Arthur pushed forward, forcing Francis to be sandwiched between him and the wall. He ran his hand down to the knot of the rob and undid it so that it fell open slightly. His grin widened at the sight of Francis's chest. He had gotten glimpses of chest hair before, but this was much better.

"And I thought you couldn't be more perfect. Look at you," Arthur ran a hand up Francis's chest making him shiver.

"What are you doing?"

"Making us match," Arthur suggested with a sly grin. He continued to run his hand up to Francis's shoulder.

"Arthur…" It was meant to be a warning but came out too shaky. Francis swallowed and tried again. "I don't think -"

Arthur cut him off by brushing his lip against his jaw feeling the stubble there. Using the grip he had on Francis's shoulder he pulled himself close to his ear and muttered, "I came here to seduce you."

At some point during Arthur's movement, Francis had placed his hands on Arthur's hips. A good subconscious move on his part as he was able to stop Arthur from rolling his hips against his leg and maintain some control over the situation. At Arthur's words, his fingers twitched and me mouthed to the air, "Fuck."

Although Francis was able to hold their hips apart, Arthur was still able to reach him. He grabbed the side of Francis's face and gently moved it so that they were facing, noses almost touching. Through a drunken haze, Arthur focused on Francis's eyes. There was so much he wanted to say. There was so much he could never say sober. There was so much that his drunk mind was having trouble translating into spoken word.

In the end, all Arthur was able to say was, "You have the bluest fucking eyes I've ever seen."

Francis's eyes widened, less because of the comment and more because of how Arthur pulled him in for a kiss after saying it. After the briefest of pauses to process what was happening, Francis kissed back.

Their kisses were messy and loud. Arthur pushed Francis so hard into the wall it almost hurt. He intertwined their legs, so that they could rub against each other's hips, which Arthur did forcibly making sure that Francis could feel him and knew. He gripped at Francis's hair tightly trying to pull him as close as possible just like he'd been daydreaming about for what felt like forever.

Francis panted into Arthur's moaning mouth. He slid his hands down to grip at Arthur's ass only serving to pull him closer and rub his own hardness against Arthur, searching for more friction. He squeezed Arthur closer, gripping tightly, and deepened the kiss, taking control by moving his tongue into Arthur's mouth who relaxed and moaned at the change of pace.

Arthur forcibly pulled Francis's messy hair to the side so that he could mouth at his scruffy jawline. He trailed his other hand down Francis's chest and stroked the hair on his naval. He moved Francis's head to go back to kissing him. In one swift movement, he pushed his hand into Francis's pants, grabbed, and stroked.

Francis's eyes widened at the touch. He moved his hands to Arthur's shoulders and pushed, throwing the other boy back.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he panted, eyes still wide in alarm.

"It's okay," Arthur stated. He tried to step closer again, but Francis held his arms out in front of him keeping distance between them.

"You're drunk."

"Great detective work, Sherlock. Now, come on." Again Arthur tried to get closer, and again Francis held him back.

"Arthur, I'm not going to take advantage of you like this," Francis said softly.

"It's not taking advantage if I want it," Arthur claimed, his eyes on the bulge in Francis's pants.

Francis shook his head to get rid of any tempting thoughts. "We can't do this when you're drunk."

Arthur stopped trying to fight through Francis's arms to get closer. The interest in his eyes morphed into sadness. "Why?" he muttered.

"I won't take advantage of you."

Arthur took a step back and rubbed at his face. "I… other people are fine with it. I just… why?"

Francis stiffened at the mention of other people, but calmed quickly letting his next words sound soothing. "I know you, and if I let you do this right now, you won't like it in the morning. If you're going to do something like this, you need to be sober."

Arthur's face twitched, he throat worked as he felt it close up. He whispered, "I could never regret it."

Francis mirrored his tone, "Guilt can hurt just as much as regret."

Arthur blinked quickly and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I hate how fucking wise you are." He turned to walk towards the couch, but stumbled to the ground.

Chuckling, Francis helped him up and got him to the couch. Arthur swayed, his head shifting around his shoulder before focusing on Francis. "I ever tell you how amazing you are?" The question came out more like a confession.

Francis ran his hand through his hair both as a means to fidget and to refix it. He shook his head no slowly, eyes trained on the drunk boy.

"It fucks me up, Francis, it really does." They stared at each other, taking in the other's eyes. Then, Arthur convulsed once, his stomach deciding it was awake. Francis grimaced.

"Oh my god, please don't get sick in here."

"Nah, no, I'm good," Arthur slurred over his answer, and shifted so he was slouching back. He began unbuttoning his pants.

"What are you doing?"

"Uncomfortable," Arthur stated as he undid his zipper in one quick, dramatic movement. His body shoulders shook as if he was about to puke. "I do not feel good," Arthur stated it as if he was surprised by the development.

Francis chuckled at the absurdity of his night. "Just stay put. I'll get you water." He eyed Arthur again. "And a trash can."

As Francis turned to leave, Arthur begged, "No, don't leave."

Francis paused and tried to quell Arthur's agitation with an explanation, but Arthur interrupted him.

"Don't leave. Everyone that gets me leaves. I can't handle all this alone." Arthur was beginning to tear up. Francis watched his friend break down shocked. He made his best attempt to calm Arthur down, but his discomfort made him speak quickly. "Arthur, Arthur, look at me. I'm just going to the kitchen."

Arthur shook his head and heaved again, making Francis take one step toward the kitchen seriously considering letting the breakdown happen, so he could get a trash can. Arthur slobbered, "Don't be like Walt."

The mention of Arthur's brother made Francis pause. He knelt down in front of Arthur grabbing his face. "Hey, Arthur, Arthur, look at me. I'm not sure what Walt did to upset you, but it's going to be okay."

"No."

"Yes, it is. It'll be fine, I promise. And I'm not leaving."

Arthur sniffled, but seemed to calm down at Francis's words. His glazed eyes ran back and forth over Francis's face unable to fully focus.

"Now, I'm going to go to the kitchen to get you some water and then come right back. I'm not leaving. I'm going to keep the light on, and no one would leave with the lights on, right?"

Arthur nodded. Francis stood. "Just stay right there. I'll get you water and a trash can and be right back. You won't get sick, right?"

Arthur gave him a thumbs up in response, not feeling up to opening his mouth. Francis made quick work in the kitchen and returned to the living room holding a glass of water and a small trash can. He heart stopped when he didn't initially see Arthur's head over the back of the coach. He ran into the living room and sighed.

Arthur was laying on the couch dead to the world. He was laying on his bent arms, mouth open, and storing softly. At some point, Arthur had taken off his pants and threw them over the side table. Francis wanted to laugh at the union jack boxers Arthur wore, because of course, that's what Arthur had on.

Instead, he set down the trash can on the ground near Arthur's face and set the water next to it. He grabbed a blanket off the back of one of the chairs and threw it over Arthur, tucking it in around his sides. He let himself run a hand through Arthur's bangs pushing them back.

He sat in one of the chairs just watching over Arthur for a while. He told himself it was to make sure he would be okay. Humming, he stroked his hand back and forth on his chin and neck in thought.

"You really are something, Arthur," he murmured into the empty room.

He eyed a clock on the wall. The morning was going to be interesting for sure.

Interesting was not what Arthur would ever call the next morning. To him, it was confusing and painful. He woke to delicious smells and a pounding head. As he lifted himself into a sitting position, the blanket fell. He grunted and pushed at his forehead in an attempt to handle the pain. He had had a few hangovers recently, but none this bad. It must be his punishment for trying to drink away his feelings.

Through squinted eyes, he noticed the quilted blanket covering his legs. He lifted the edge with one hand and muttered, "What?"

Then, he lifted his head fully to take stalk of the entire room. He was in a living room. The room itself wasn't cluttered, but something about the plethora of pictures on the wall and patterned rug on the floor made it feel full. It was homey and comforting like something that would belong to a caring grandmother you knew would cottle you when you visited. It was way more lived in than Arthur's own home, and he froze remembering where he was.

Stiffly, he peeked over the edge of the couch towards the kitchen. He listened intently to the movement and sounds of cooking.

"Oh, shit."

He plopped back down on the couch holding back from throwing the quilt over him in hopes of hiding everything. Footsteps approached. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight the blush he could feel growing on his face. Opening his eyes slowly, he saw a pajama-clad Francis putting two plates of food on the table.

"You're awake!" Francis exclaimed.

Arthur sat up feeling naked under Francis's gaze. He looked down realizing it was because he was in fact mostly naked. Any attempt to hide behind the blanket without Francis noticing was mute, but he did it anyways.

"Behind you," Francis gestured as he sat down in the nearest chair.

Arthur turned and, sure enough, there was a white button down over the back of the chair. One of Francis's for sure, but Arthur was not going to turn down a chance to cover up. While putting his arms through the sleeves, Arthur noticed the trash can by the couch.

Not even attempting to button the shirt he asked with a kick to the can, "Was I that bad?"

"How bad do you feel right now?"

Arthur chuckled and rubbed at this greasy hair, "Like absolute shit, but I don't think I'll be needing this." He tapped the can with his foot again.

Francis laughed, "Better than I would be expecting. The tea on the side table is for you, by the way. I have no idea if it'll actually help with the quesiness or not."

"You are the most hospitable person in the world," Arthur groaned out while reaching for the large, faded mug.

Francis hummed, "Wait until you try breakfast."

"As if your cooking could be anything but good."

"You've never had it," Francis pointed out.

Arthur shrugged it off. "Doesn't matter." He took a sip of the tea and hummed in contentedness. "With how much you know about that kind of stuff, you can't not be good."

"Wow, you're actually capable of kind of giving a compliment," Francis teased.

"Be nice. I'm hungover."

"About that, want to talk about it?"

Arthur eyed Francis. "Did you take off my pants?"

Francis blinked and then laughed. Arthur hated how the sound soothed his angry stomach. "You did that all on your own."

Arthur's cheeks reddened, and he did what he could to hide behind his tea. He very much remembered kissing Francis and being kind of forceful, but not much else. "Like I'm sure I said last night, I was having a rough day."

Raising one eyebrow Francis stated, "What do you think you said?"

Arthur tilted his head back and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to face Francis. "I do remember that I ended up… being a little touchy, but, uh, I came over to talk about stuff," Arthur trailed off and opened his eyes to an amused Francis.

"That is not what you said you came for last night."

"Do I even want to know?"

"You said you came to seduce me." Francis shrugged as if what he said wasn't a huge deal.

If a sinkhole could open up in the floor and pull Arthur into the void, he would say a prayer of thanks before disappearing forever. Instead, he set down his tea, covered his face, and said a dignified, "Holy shit."

Francis sat back in his chair and began eating his breakfast. "It's okay. You were drunk."

Arthur lowered his hands nodding slowly. "Really drunk."

"After I refused, you did get upset and mention Walt."

"Good," Arthur mumbled while grabbing his tea again. Whether he meant Francis's refusal or his mention of Walt was unknown to both of them.

"Want to talk about it?"

"The joy of drinking is that you can have conversations you don't have to remember." Arthur put down his tea and grabbed a plate of food as a way to avoid looking at Francis. As Arthur reached for a plate, Francis watched him intently.

"Can't forget conversations if you don't have any when you get blackout drunk."

Sitting back, Arthur sighed and pushed eggs around his plate still not looking at Francis. In his mind, he was picturing what he did remember - the rush of everything that happened against the wall to his left.

"You know you can talk while sober. It's a novel thing."

Arthur shot a glare at Francis, but Francis met him with a steady gaze. Arthur sighed, "Walt's leaving."

"What?"

"You heard me. He's leaving."

"Where is he going?"

"Wales."

"Wales?"

"He's going to do research on sheep."

Francis chuckled, "Sheep research?"

Arthur talked through a mouthful of food. "Are you a parrot now?"

Francis leaned back holding his own plate of food. "Sorry, sorry. Going to Wales for sheep research is a little unexpected." Francis added, "Very Walt though. That sounds exactly like Walt."

"Yeah, well, he found his way out, and it's to do crazy science shit far away leaving me here to rot."

"There's tons of ways to get out."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about," Arthur accused.

Francis snapped, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I'm an idiot that doesn't understand anything."

Arthur winced. "I'm guessing I didn't get around to the apologizing part last night?"

Francis straightened. "Oh?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

Francis waved his arm with a smile silently demanding Arthur continue.

"I have been an asshole."

"Yes, you have and?"

"That's it."

"Is it?"

Arthur groaned, "You bloody fucking -" He was cut off by Francis's laughter. His unamused look only made the French teen laugh more.

"Oh, shut up."

"You're lucky I like you."

"Yeah," Arthur muttered. He put his plate back on the table and grabbed his tea again. Silence fell over them. After a moment, Arthur admitted, "I've been a prick, and you didn't deserve that."

Francis nodded. "Thanks."

Arthur continued drinking his tea. Francis finished his food and stacked his plate on Arthurs. He curled up in the armchair with his chin in his hand watching Arthur.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I've been fine."

"Arthur."

"Look, I got it in my head last night that I might need someone when Walt's gone, and I came here. Don't overanalyze it."

Francis grinned and leaned over the arm of his chair. "Couldn't resist my charm," he teased.

"You're insufferable."

"Not what you thought last night."

Arthur put his tea down and stood. He began buttoning the shirt he was wearing as fast as his fingers would allow, ignoring how he was doing it crooked. The blush on his cheeks burned. He tried to avoid looking at Francis as he put his pants and shoes on.

"Arthur, I'm making jokes. You don't need to leave." Francis stood over Arthur who was finishing tying his shoes.

Arthur stood almost chest to chest with Francis. His hair was still a mess and his face was red.

"I'll see you at the next family dinner, Frog."

With that, Arthur turned and rushed out of the house. Francis listened to his patting footsteps as he walked away.

From the doorway, Francis smiled.

* * *

A/N: I've been waiting so long to share this chapter. It's been my favorite to write so far and I have just a few left first draft wise. It may be fun to know I wrote it while at work too, so that's a thing.

Thanks for everyone who've been sending me tips and stuff. It means a lot. I'm also sorry for not always sending a DM back. I mostly get on my computer just to upload and my phone hates the interface for sending private messages here. Just know it means a lot. (Shout out to ASillyGermaninLatinClass)

Also, I'm slowly reuploading the Boy with the Backpack to AO3 and, then, will repost this one there to. So if you see my fics start to pop up over there, it's me doing it.

I'm really excited about this and the upcoming chapters :)

Have a good weekend ya'll.


	9. Chapter 9

The day Walt left was uneventful. After spending so much time dreading it, the actual moment came and went. One morning the family ate breakfast together. Then, they were hugging each other goodbye before their dad drove Walt to the airport.

Arthur didn't cry, and for that, he was glad. Instead, he smiled at Walt's comment that he would be calling and writing. He was able to maintain the smile when Walt told him to remember everything they talked about recently even though it was a struggle to keep his expression positive.

Then, as if it happened all the time, Walt was gone, and life continued. At first, things were the same. Arthur spent so much time alone that he could easily forget Walt was gone. At least, he could forget until he needed him. Walt's absence was like a scratch in the back of Arthur's head. He felt it during dinner when they would normally make faces at each other about how ridiculous their family was being. He felt it in the moments when he found himself walking to Walt's room to talk.

He felt it at night sitting in bed. At those times, he would sit at his desk and write. Words didn't come the way he wanted. Half written letters filled his trash can on the few nights that he didn't sneak out. Those nights were becoming scarce; the nights he went out were becoming blurrier and blurrier.

Money was still a problem, but less so than it was before. He could sneak cash from his mom's purse and dad's wallet sometimes without them knowing. It didn't take much to get some free drinks, and once the drinks were in him, it wasn't hard to exchange some favors for whatever Ivan had that night. Usually, he liked saving cash for that, but Ivan wasn't unattractive, and it was worth it.

Arthur sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He couldn't sleep. Everything felt off. His chest was tight and uncomfortable. Sighing, he eyed his window. He could use a night out, but just didn't have the energy. Pushing himself up straight, he grabbed a spiral notebook and opened it to a random page.

He began to write:

Dear Walt,

How are you? I've been okay, but things are getting

He erased the second sentence and tried again.

I've been okay, but the family is still crazy, as usual. I need to tell you something about what I've been up too.

He erased and tried two more times before crossing it out. His scribbling became erratic. The pencil pressed so hard into the paper it ripped. He stood and threw the whole notebook on the bed breathing heavily. The short outburst calmed him down a little, he sighed running a hand through his hair before grabbing the notebook from his bed.

Tonight wasn't the night to write this, but the letter needed to be written soon. He would rather Walt hear about things before anything happened with the family. It was only a matter of time before they cornered Arthur about what he has been up to. He looked at the second desk drawer from the top. Also a matter of time before someone goes searching his stuff.

He wasn't a complete idiot. They were onto him. His parents had been giving him looks, some questioning, some curious, some knowing. They probably are in the process of figuring out that he is gone most nights. With the amount he sleeps in, it couldn't be hard to guess. Scott was even worse. He would ask Arthur seemingly random probing questions about life. He was trying to put things together and was likely getting close.

Just yesterday, he asked what Arthur was doing at night because he heard a bang coming from his room in the middle of the night. Arthur was out of it when he came home and tripped stepping through the window. He told some lie about falling out of bed, but he could only get away with lies like that for a little while. He didn't know what he would get out of telling Walt, but he needed to at least hint at something before it was his parents spreading rumors during a weekly phone call.

He eyed the window again. It was tempting, but not worth it. Tomorrow was the first joint-family dinner since Walt left, and he needed to be at least a little rested. Francis was coming, and it would do him no good to be hungover. Instead he forced himself to go to sleep and tried not to think about tomorrow.

Sadly, time is a thing that exists, and when he woke up tomorrow had arrived. He tried to shower to wake himself up, but the water could only do so much. He felt exhausted. Post-shower he trudged downstairs to where the rest of his family was. His mom was in the kitchen prepping stuff for their upcoming dinner, and Scott was finishing a late breakfast at the table. Arthur had no idea where his dad was. He greeted his mom, grabbed something to eat, and sat down in front of Scott.

"You look well rested," Scott observed sarcastically

Arthur rubbed at his face. "Had trouble sleeping."

"Seems to happen a lot."

"Yeah, I've been having nightmares."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Last night I had a bad one."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nah, I'm just annoyed about it." Scott nodded in understanding. As he got up to put his plate away, he patted Arthur on the back.

Arthur did want to talk about it, but had no idea where to start.

The dream had felt so real despite being ADJECTIVE. He was upstairs when his mom called him down for dinner. He almost tripped down the oddly tall stairs when he stopped abruptly noticing that he was wearing his going out clothes. The yelling of his family grew louder and more erratic as he quickly changed and bounded down the stairs.

The run to the dinner table was long and exhausting. Suddenly, he found himself tiny, the chairs and table giant, towering over him ominously.

He dad's voice echoed down at him, "You're late! Get up here and join us."

His family demanded him and mocked him, their tones growing more and more agitated and angry ad he struggled to climb the leg of his chair.

"I can't. I can't," he gasped out having once again fallen. "I can't find my way up."

Walt's voice floated down. "Maybe you could climb better if you were being yourself."

Arthur's clothes changed back to the originals. He tried again trying to reach Walt's fleeting encouraging words, but to no avail.

The voices were threatening now, insulting, yelling.

As he finally got close to the top, he fell again from the tall height and woke in a sweat as his body hit the ground.

Arthur dreaded the family dinner - the first without Walt. The whole situation was strange. He never spent much time with Walt on these nights, preferring to talk with Francis, but the weight of his absence hung over the family in the hours before the Bonnefoys were to arrive. Maybe it was because they haven't had a dinner in a while. Maybe it was because his parents' attentions were split between two sons instead of over three. Either way, Arthur felt claustrophobic.

At first he felt listless. No amount of potential energy within him could get him through the day and into the evening. Now that the dinner was fast approaching, he felt anxious. He sat on a chair downstairs picking at his sweater as if pulling a loose string could unwind him mentally the same way it would unwind the seam.

He was happy about seeing Francis. He knew he was. Francis was one of the most enjoyable people to be around, and he never really judged Arthur. Yet, he still fidgeted, his chest tightening at the prospect of the table being one chair less full. He needed to calm down. He needed a good uplifting. He really needed it, but the Bonnefoys would arrive at any second, and it really was not the time. He could power through until after dinner.

Fuck, he should have gone out last night.

Arthur stood prepared to go upstairs for a distraction. He could work on reworking more poems into lyrics. As he began to move, the doorbell rang. Scott hopped up from another chair throwing a book he was reading onto it.

"Wow, Artie, it's like you have a sixth sense," he patted Arthur on the shoulder on his way to the now opening door.

The house seemed to erupt with noise at the arrival of the Bonnefoys. It was as if the building woke up everytime they arrived, filling it with life. Sometimes, Arthur forgot how much energy the three people had. In a way, it was contagious just to be around them.

The families greeted each other. Mrs Bonnefoy loudly bemoaned the absence of Walt, but told everyone to pass on her congratulations. As she followed Mrs. Kirkland into the kitchen, Francis turned the Arthur with a grin.

"Nice to see you again, Arthur."

"Nice seeing you too, Francis."

"Also nice to see you're feeling better," he teased.

Arthur quickly glanced into the living room where his father and Scott were sitting with Mr. Bonnefoy. He shot a glare at Francis and accused, "Really?"

Francis shrugged. "You can't expect me not to tease you at least a little. It was the middle of the night."

Arthur rubbed at his neck. "Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize." Francis shasheyed past Arthur towards the stairs. He paused and turned back towards Arthur. "Come on."

Arthur tried not to pay attention to Scott's eyes watching them ascend the stairs. Instead, he focused on bantering with Francis. Arthur lounged on the bed watching as Francis walked around talking animatedly while not so subtly going through Arthur's things.

Francis gossiped about some people he knew as he looked at the desk. He reached for the second drawer from the top.

"How about you not go through literally everything, yeah?"

Francis lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, Sir Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not that conceited, and having boundaries does not make me some sort of tyrant."

"Very true," Francis commented while nicking a notebook out of the top drawer and plopping on the bed next to Arthur.

From his spot leaning against the wall, Arthur watched as Francis laid on his stomach casually thumbing through it. His eyes dragged up and down Francis's prone form. Francis's eyes ran back and forth across pages skimming messily written words. Familiar pages were flipped through quickly until he paused on something new.

"What's this?" He turned the book slightly so that Arthur could see. On the left side was a poem he wrote. A different color marked it up and rewrote parts of it on the right side where he went back in pencil to write and rewrite parts of it. Arrows pointed back and forth over the page, some bolded and others crossed out.

"I was reworking some old poems; trying to make them more lyrical."

Francis's face lit up. "You're writing songs?"

Arthur tried to shrug off the tonal praise. "I'm just seeing if there's anything there."

"Is it for your project with Vlad?" Francis enthused.

Arthur paused. He almost asked Francis how he knew about Vlad. Then, he remembered Francis was friends with Torris and Felix, the same people who introduced him to Vlad in the first place. Stress started to bubble inside him. He didn't run into them often, but he still occasionally saw them. Were they telling Francis about what he's been up to? Informing Francis on his habits? He shifted uneasily. The world was too fucking small.

"I didn't realize you knew about that."

"I only know you were considering working on a music thing with him."

"Still considering."

Francis deflated, "You haven't started?"

"I've been really busy and caught up in some stuff. He gets it. He has other things he can work on. It's fine."

Francis ran his hand over the page. "I know you don't think I get you, but I think you'd like it."

Arthur huffed.

Francis smirked at him. "The look definitely suited you."

"You really want to bring that up?"

"Wasn't the worst night of my life."

"I'm sure that would be having a wasted guy show up at your doorstep who chewed you out the last time you saw him."

Francis rolled onto his back and laughed. "Oh, you know that was entertaining as hell."

"More like embarrassing."

"It started pretty good," Francis shrugged and tilted his head up to peer at Arthur, "and the morning was nice."

Arthur put his face in his hands not wanting to actually see the conversation taking place in front of him. He groaned, "The only thing good about it was breakfast."

Francis rolled again so he could be on his elbows and look up at Arthur. "It was good?" Francis hoped.

Arthur huffed and lifted his head, "You know it was." Francis beamed.

Arthur flicked his eyes forwards ignoring the flutters Francis's smiling face gave him. "So you and Vlad are friends?"

"Not really. I've met him once… maybe twice? But I'm good friends with Felix, and he mentions him a lot. It's a small community. I feel like you at least vaguely know of everyone after a while."

Arthur stiffened. "Everyone?"

"I mean, it's a bit of an exaggeration, but you know. Everyone is a friend of a friend of a friend. Then, you get people like Felix who love to gossip." Francis was nonchalant as if everything he said was a universal experience.

Arthur pictured everyone he knew connecting lines between them. Tracing the strands to see how many connected to Francis or his family. How many people removed were they from his second life? How risky were all the people whose faces were just blurs in his memory? His family were removed enough. Francis was another worry. He pictured Felix, Torris, Raivis - no not Raivis - just Ivan. Arthur glanced at Francis who had grabbed the notebook again. His chest tightened. It was hard having a person bridging his two lives no matter how hard he tried to keep everything separate.

He could see the future where everything he was making for himself crumbled. His fingers began wringing, pulling at each other, nails scratching at unkempt nail beds. He needed to get a grip. He was unnecessarily nervous. He could artificially regulate those feelings later. Not now.

"Hey, guys?" Scott commented leaning against the doorframe. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with Francis.

"Dinners almost done." He glanced at Francis briefly with disdain.

"What?" Francis bit out. Scott shook his head and looked at Arthur. He wasn't sure what propelled him to do it but after glancing between them, Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow at Scott. He immediately regretted it. Attempts to make his face appear casual and simply curious may or may not have been successful.

"Why do you have to be so against me all the time, Scott?" Francis demanded. Francis moved to sit on the edge of the bed, notebook forgotten. Arthur wanted to close his eyes to avoid what was happening. Like a car crash, he couldn't look away.

Scott shot Francis a disgusted look. "I think it's obvious I don't like you, but you're a guest, and I shouldn't spend time insulting you."

Francis stood up only a few feet separating him and Scott. "Your behavior is already insulting so might as well talk."

"You already know," Scott huffed as if he saw Francis's aggression with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Enlighten me."

"Don't think you hide anything about yourself with how feminine you are."

Francis narrowed his eyes. Scott took two steps closer narrowing the distance between them to nothing. He glared into Francis's equally angry eyes.

In a whisper he threatened, "You're not getting anything from Arthur. Stop trying to fuck him up like you."

They stood still for a moment before Scott sniffed and stepped back. He turned towards Arthur who sat unmoving on the bed. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You should head down soon." With one last threatening look at Francis, he left.

Arthur couldn't see Francis's expression from his point-of-view. Judging his posture, it couldn't be good. Arthur would have been more than shaken up if he was Francis. He shuffled to the end of the bed to be closer to him.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Francis whipped he head to look at Arthur in surprise. His eyes were watery with unshed tears. His expression changed to something softer as he spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry you have to live with that, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed. "Just the average protective older brother, you know?" He hated the way Francis's eyes crinkled with pity. To distract himself he stood up and hugged Francis until the surprise passed and he was being hugged back.

Pulling away he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

Francis's mouth quirked up at the edges. "People say much worse things. It just sucks that it's your brother." He rubbed at his face and slapped his cheeks lightly to rub away the sadness and put on a normal expression. "We should go back downstairs before they have to call us."

Arthur nodded. "I'll follow you. I just need to grab something."

"Okay."

Francis went downstairs. Arthur followed not long after.

Dinner was not good by any means. Mrs. Kirkland started cooking before Mrs. Bonnefoy could help prep, so it wasn't as edible as usual. Francis was quiet. He would stare off when there were lulls in the conversation remembering what happened upstairs. Arthur hated seeing Francis like that. It was worse than the times they fought. Compared to this, their fights were like light teasing, flirting even, Francis didn't dwell on the things Arthur said like the way he seemed to be dwelling on Scott.

Although, it was particularly hard to stop dwelling on what happened upstairs when Scott seemed to be trying to fit jabs at Francis into conversation. The comments were sneaky, well-planned. Arthur didn't even notice it was happening at first. Without Walt, the table seemed often having one conversation or to be split into two. An offhand comment here or there was easy to add.

Guilt invaded Arthur's chest. Given the chance to relive the moment, he didn't think that he would stand up for Francis, but he should have. His involvement was why all this was happening. Occasionally, he made eye contact with Scott. Guilt turned to worry. He was in no mental space to deal with any fallout right now.

With a sigh, he scratched at his forehead. His emotions were horrible today. Dinner had just begun, and he was already unraveling at the seams.

"Oh, yes, you'll love her Arthur!" Mrs. Bonnefoy beamed half to Mrs. Kirkland and half to Arthur.

"What?" Arthur looked around. Francis was jabbing at his food being no help to figuring out why he was mentioned.

The ladies laughed.

Mrs. Kirkland explained, "Francis' cousin is coming to visit next week." She turned back to Mrs. Bonnefoy. "Oh, you'll just have to come over with her." The ladies devolved into talking about next week's dinner plans.

"It could be good to have a girl your age over, Arthur," Mr. Kirkland stated.

"Yeah, Arthur," Scott agreed giving him a significant look.

"Oh, you'd be cute together," Mrs. Bonnefoy joked.

Arthur turned to Francis. "What's she like?"

He shrugged. "Outgoing. I think she likes books maybe?"

Arthur huffed, "I expect everyone in your family to be outgoing." He paused and looked around the table. Scott was splitting attention between Arthur and the adults who were planning the dinner party and making a few jokes about Arthur. Francis listened to them casually. No one but Arthur noticed he was eating quickly as if looking for something to be doing.

This was a nightmare.

He couldn't handle this.

"I'll be right back," he said standing from the table. His father nodded in acknowledgement, and the table went back to its chatter. Francis watched him walk away concern bleeding into his attempt to maintain a stoic expression. Arthur never left in the middle of one of their dinners, especially when they were having a conversation. There may have been a lul, but Francis was about to ask about some poems he had read recently.

Once Arthur disappeared, he turned back to his plate and moved some of the food around with his fork. He shot a glance at Scott, but the oldest Kirkland son was deep in conversation with the other men. In that moment, he made a graceful and totally not ugly face at him before going back to moving food around. Scott was an asshole and probably one of the many reasons Arthur was struggling so much.

Francis could read between the lines. Literally. At this point, he read through almost every notebook of Arthur's that he could find. They may have been mostly poems with some prose snuck in, but some of the pages read more like journals. Added with the time he spent with Arthur, he felt like he really understood the way he was constantly pulled in different directions. There was an all or nothing connotation when Arthur thought about his family and what their support and love meant. It was one thing to understand and another to witness it.

What was strange was Arthur's behavior. He seemed more off than usual starting long before Walt announced he was leaving. Francis nibbled on his food as he dwelled on Arthur's behavior. A lot could be written off as figuring himself out, and Francis had to let him do that. Judging by the other night, there was a lot going on. Francis smiled to himself thinking about parts of it. He felt bad about the circumstances, but a kiss was still a kiss. He'd enjoy it for what it was, and hope that Arthur realized there was more to life than his family.

It took awhile for Arthur to return to the table - not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Francis to question if he was okay. Luckily, Arthur returned and sat down before Francis decided to do anything about it. Arthur began eating leisurely.

"You okay?"

"I'm great. Feeling really good. Food's just sitting weird, but you got to eat, you know?"

Francis watched Arthur intently. "Read anything good recently?"

"Oh, yeah. I finished Pride and Prejudice I guess it was last night? Great book. There's a lot of interesting things that could be done with it like I have so many ideas about that upper class romance stuff. It's great," Arthur rambled pausing only to eat small bites of food.

Francis hummed, "It's one of my favorites."

Arthur glanced at Francis. "Yeah."

Tilting his head Francis raised one eyebrow. Then, he narrowed in on something. "You have something on your face." He gestured vaguely to his upper lip.

Arthur paused. He grabbed his napkin and ran it over his face pulling it away to look at it. The tiniest dark streak stained the white.

"Shit," he muttered and put the napkin back on his face.

"Nosebleed?"

Arthur dabbed at his nose until blood stopped showing up on the napkin. "Just a little. Nothing major. See already stopped."

"That sucks."

Arthur focused on refolding the napkin to avoid looking at Francis. "Not a big deal."

Francis nodded in acknowledgement and took a sip of water still watching his friend.

Arthur nodded at the other end of the table. "Are they still talking about me?"

Francis glanced. "I don't think so."

Arthur muttered, "I fucking hate when they talk about me."

"Are you okay?" Francis whispered making sure no one else was listening.

"I feel great, seriously, it's just when I…" he waved his hand around his head, "sometimes I get a little, you know? Actually." He shook his head. "Pretend I didn't say anything, okay?"

Francis stared. Then, he leaned closer. "Arthur."

Arthur closed his eyes. He shook his head and smiled bitterly. He knew what was happening, and the fact Francis was catching on was infuriating. He may not be good at hiding it, but he at least hoped he wasn't being this obvious.

Francis shook his head and let out a sigh as if Arthur already answered his unspoken questioned. "Arthur, are you high," Francis accused quietly.

"Don't be crazy." Arthur grabbed his empty plate and Francis's. He stood up. "Scott?"

"Yeah?" Scott turned away from whatever the rest of the table was talking about.

"Want me to take your plate?"

"Sure." Scott handed his to Arthur and turned back to listen to what Mr. Bonnefoy was saying. Arthur disappeared into the kitchen. The movements happened fast. One moment Arthur was there, and the next he was gone. Francis stared at the empty chair next to him.

For some reason, Francis didn't feel too surprised. He felt as if he always had a suspicion, especially after Arthur showed up to his house. He rubbed a hand on his face. There were a lot of people he wanted to talk to and a lot of things to think about.

* * *

A/N: An update for Thanksgiving! I'm really excited about some of the upcoming stuff. I have a lot of gaps where I have to write scenes, but hopefully it won't take too long. Sorry for the late update, I'm having some motivation troubles with my creative work.

Also, I've been slowly archiving BWTB to AO3 when I can't get myself to write but have free time, and will slowly put this fic there too for those who use AO3. (No idea what the crossover is for the userbase).

You'll hear again from me soon. Thanks.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: When Gentlemen Avoid Gentlewomen

Arthur didn't see Francis for almost a week. As much as he secretly enjoyed the French boy's company, everything in his life was reaching a peak, and avoiding Francis was helping to avoid everything coming together in whatever nightmarish way it was destined to. He wasn't an idiot. He knew his denials didn't completely convince Francis. God knows what he'd do about that kind of knowledge.

Then, there was everyone else. They were onto him, but he couldn't stop. Sneaking out the first time was a horrible idea. Yes, he was equally as miserable before, but at least before he didn't know what it was like to feel that way - to accept himself and briefly ignore any guilt or fear. He couldn't stop now, even if artificially changing his feelings as Ivan would say was not working the same way. He wasn't an idiot. He knew the cocaine was bad. He knew every other thing he was putting in his system would end badly. He knew his family would figure out, and then what?

The thing was that he actually liked his family. He liked a lot about his box as Francis so eloquently coined it. He couldn't just give up his gentleman values; all the things his family taught and instilled in him. They were what made him _him._ He couldn't leave any of it behind. He couldn't abandon his family or let them abandon him without ruining his sense of self. He also couldn't leave the other part of himself behind. There was no choosing sides, but living both was getting hectic.

He had to keep everything in perfect balance until at least university. The act might be easier when he is older. For now, he needed to avoid people who might tip the balance like Francis.

Arthur leaned back in his desk chair with a sigh.

If he wanted to be a perpetual actor, he would join a theater company. As much as he knew acting was a necessity, he was feeling strained. He took a deep breath and let it out. Again. In. Out. Again. In. Out.

He would survive the evening without help. He would face Francis. He would be the most gentlemanliest gentleman anyone has ever seen, and, then, he would continue on.

Yes, he could do this.

For all that he stressed, dinner was not as hard as his brain made it out to be, likely because he forgot about Francis's cousin, Emma. There was no time to confront Arthur about possible drug use with a random cousin in the mix. Surprising to Arthur was how close Emma and Francis seemed. Arthur was never close with any extended family, but the two seemed to have endless stories to tell about each other.

When Francis said Emma was outgoing, he was understating it. The girl could talk forever without Arthur having to give any input, which was fine with him. He did his best to ignore her at dinner. After talking together in the living room before dinner, he was already exhausted. His social meter was drained.

He wasn't being fair putting all his annoyance on her when most of it came from everyone else - everyone else but Francis that is. The sheer amount of jokes about Emma and him getting together would make anyone go insane straight or not. When walking to dinner, Scott jabbed Arthur's side just to whisper that she was cute.

Arthur supposed she was. Her light brown hair was cropped to her shoulders and pulled back with a stylish and bright ribbon. Her eyes were as bright as her voice, and her smile was nice, almost contagious, but Arthur didn't seem to be catching the same infection as everyone else. Nice smiles must run in the Bonnefoy family.

A few times Arthur tried to talk with Francis about a book he thought the other would like, and Emma butted in. Francis lied. Emma did not like to read. She liked the outdoors. She liked to bike and go on walks and climb trees. Her ideal day was being social and outside. Every time he would mention a book, she would mention a time she read it at a cafe. "Oh! It was so beautiful. They have these fun little pastries. I went with my friend, and he told me this story…"

Maybe he could do it if he was drunk, but it was a hard maybe. Luckily, her being a chatterbox meant he just had to sit and nod. Being a passive participant in conversation Arthur wasn't enjoying was kind of his specialty at this point.

As a whole, the dinner party wasn't bad, but it wasn't good.

He didn't get to talk to Francis, which the other claimed was a shame when they hugged goodbye. He went to shake Emma's hand, but she went for a tight hug instead. Whoever said girls were weak were lying and had never met Emma. After all the Bonnefoys left, Arthur didn't stay downstairs with his family like he often would. He claimed he wanted to put on pajamas and work on a writing project while the idea was fresh.

Wanting to change wasn't a lie. He only sat at his desk for a few minutes, before he decided he might as well go and sit with everyone else. Grabbing his book, he slowly went down the stairs until he heard voices.

"He didn't seem very interested in her, did he?" The only female voice in the house rose up the stairs. Arthur paused, curious.

Scott snorted, "But has he ever?"

"That's not funny, Scott," Mr. Kirkland chastised.

"I'm just saying: is it really shocking that we have a beautiful girl over for dinner, and Arthur doesn't bat an eye and practically ignores her all night? She was even trying to flirt with him." The flirting was news to Arthur.

"I know what you're saying. Arthur may be… eccentric and may be showcasing some bad behaviors, but he isn't that." Arthur sat down on the third step at his father's statement. He thought he was doing well.

"I couldn't even imagine," Mrs. Kirkland trailed off. Arthur put his hands over his face to muffle his shaky breath.

"Well, we thought Walt had some bizarre eccentricities and look at him now."

"Do you think this is the same thing?" Scott asked.

"Possibly, but Arthur always showed great qualities and values. We just have to nip at some of those habits before they get too bad. We've been holding back, but if he can't fix things himself, we will have to help."

"I don't want to tell you how to parent, but doesn't it already seem bad?"

"I'm sure it's just small things. Maybe it's a girl at school? Some of them can be horrible influences," Mrs. Kirkland proposed, hopeful.

Someone mumbled something Arthur couldn't hear. They began to talk quietly. Arthur leaned forward straining to hear; straining to figure out how much they knew.

Scott's voice became clear. "Have you ever read any of the things he writes?"

Arthur's eyes widened. A barely audible "fuck" left his mouth as he rose and tried to quietly ascend the stairs as fast as possible. Although he knew his family were still downstairs, still talking about him - _shit_ \- he felt as if they could appear behind him at any moment.

He closed the door to his room and backed off as if the power of his family would break it down and their shame would infect him. His eyes were wide; his ears strained as if he would still be able to hear them above his now labored breathing.

He began to mutter, "It's okay. It's going to be fine. Just get rid of the bad notebooks. Just hide the bad ones." He sat in his chair grabbing notebooks and flipping through them.

_His hair is long,_

_A male rapunzel fresh out of a fairy tale -_

_The damsell become hero in flesh._

The next page:

_The temptations are stuck somewhere between an_

_Almost and a Never_

He grabbed another to flip through.

_It comes with the ease of going bankrupt during Backstreet Bargains,_

_But, then, what is the worth of one broken body?_

Another.

_My mind is stuck,_

_Nothing was spoken between us._

_The silence in our private moments deafening,_

_But no one else could hear, they wouldn't suspect._

_My mind is stuck,_

_Unable to forget the words I never said,_

_I feel them nonetheless._

He began digging in the drawer for more. There had to be one that wasn't soiled by his personal feelings.

_With my family, I sit at the kitchen table,_

_But my body is a golem of tainted flesh._

_My mind is drifted off into one sinful fable…_

God dammit.

_The love of the Sky and the Ground,_

_The two opposing forces meant to be, _

_But forbidden by the laws of Nature._

_The only solace for the Ground are the tears from the Sky _

_Supplied by the river that leaves His surface broken and cracked._

_What a horrible view it must be from above._

Fuck.

_As my world ends, my eyes are only filled with his beauty - _

_The gleam in his blue eyes shine so brightly the rest fades._

They were all incriminating. How had he never known? For years he filled notebook after notebook with this crap and never realized. Hell, even the story Scott said he liked didn't look too good now. The youngest son of a royal family hiding magic from them to avoid persecution and them taking it away so that he could continue to participate in the kingdom's traditions and grow up to be a high member of the court? There was even a rival kingdom that embraced magic that tempted the main character. He was so fucking obvious. It was infuriating. It was embarrassing. It was about to be a huge problem.

Arthur stood trying to control his breathing. He needed to think and to think fast. This was not something that could be fixed. The best he could do was minimize the damage. He surveyed the room, his full notebooks scattered around. He began grabbing them and making two piles. From the left pile he picked one and put it on his desk, the rest from that pile went back in the drawer, and the right pile went into the back corner of his closet next to his records. The clothes hanging mostly obscured them, so they would remain hidden for now.

He jogged to the door and put his ear against it. The voices could be louder now or it could be all in his head. Turning off his light, he jumped into bed. If they thought he was sleeping, he would have at least one more night before any confrontation.

Not long after he laid down, his door opened.

A voice whispered, "He's sleeping."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut forcing himself to not turn around and see who all was there. He heard some shuffling, a proposal to sit him down tomorrow, and the door closing. Arthur counted to twenty, opened his eyes slowly, and sat up. The notebook he left on his desk was gone.

Life as he knew it had ended.

He sucked in a breath and let it out. The threads of his sheets strained against his tight grip. No way he was going to fall asleep. He reflected on every aspect of his life, every coping mechanism, every bit he liked and hated. If he couldn't have what his family had to offer, he might as well go all in on everything else. If he couldn't be better, he could feel better. Not like his family would just kick him out when there were so many appearances to keep.

Everything would suck, but at least he knew how to distract himself from it.

* * *

A/N: Have I been sitting on 50 pages because I was just missing a few scenes? Do I have tons of bad half-written poems everywhere? Also yes.

Sorry for the wait. I had to accept some things in my head were just going to be different on paper.

Thanks for sticking around and reaching out. Also I'm slowly putting all my works on AO3, if you prefer reading there. The next updates will be faster (and the next is long so buckle up)


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: My formatting keeps disappear, and this is my third time trying to save this note. Just a heads up that the poem is not supposed to be one block of text, but four separate stanzas. This site just hates me guts.

* * *

11: Abandoning Gentlemanly Ideas for the Not-So-Greater Good

Waking up was a surprise. Somehow deep in the night, the adrenaline wore off, and he passed out. Letting out a breath, Arthur rolled onto his back. He spent most of the night trying to plan his next steps. The moment he walked out of his room, he was going to get it, but he was safe as long as he stayed inside.

He toyed with the idea of just never leaving; barricading the door and escaping through his window until he couldn't anymore, but that was just a dream. The majority of the night was spent trying to figure out what to say. For someone who always was great with words, he sure didn't know what to do with them now. As much as he wanted to believe he was creative enough to dig himself out, this hole was way too deep. No excuses could give him enough of a boost to crawl out. He dug his grave, and it was time to live in it.

What sucked the most was that he knew this moment would come. One day his lives would collide. One day his family would have to face what he has been facing the majority of his life - his gender preferences. Would they even believe that he tried everything to stay on the straight and narrow, literally, and that it just wasn't working for him?

After much late night self reflection, Arthur concluded this moment was why he had been doing everything he had. Being gay had nothing to do with the cocaine, the various other drugs, the promiscuity at bars and clubs, or with the occasional things he did with Ivan for some free product. They were just things that made him feel better in the moment - a crutch for when he had nothing else to lean on; for when he didn't want to work for anything else to lean on. If he couldn't be what his family wanted, might as well be everything they hated just for small moments of euphoria. Fuck the aftereffects.

Those thoughts were what led Arthur to his solution to the problem if what he was about to do could be called a solution. He rubbed at his face. Once he got the mental strength to get out of bed, he would become what they feared, and they could just deal with what they made him to be.

Arthur turned over to face the window trying to stop himself from thinking. After the long night, he didn't feel much in his chest anymore. His emotions left with his adrenaline making him numb. As he lay, he watched the sun slowly climb in the sky. Straining his ears, he could have sworn he heard his family approach his door sometimes lingering in the hall, maybe to listen to hear if he was awake. When the sun was fully up casting the room in daylight, he swore the door creaked open just for a few seconds.

Only when he couldn't take it anymore did he get out of bed. He stood by his closed door staring. On the other side was a new life. What he wouldn't do just to have somebody next to him in that moment. Francis's face flickered in his mind briefly. Frustration filled him. What he wouldn't do for any kind of drug to help him get through this.

He turned to look around his room, searching for an excuse to put it off. An idea struck. He could use a shower, a very long shower. He snatched some clean clothes and slowly opened his door, turning the knob fully before pulling it back. Using the lightest steps possible he made his way to the bathroom.

"Arthur?" Scott's voice drifted from his room. Arthur quickened his pace and shut the bathroom door before Scott could say anything else. He leaned into the sink trying to slow his breathing. This was harder than he thought. Minutes passed as he began to shower. Somehow he found himself sitting on the floor letting cold water wash over him.

He let the water rolling down his face obscure his vision, drip from his lips in large globs making his deep breathing sound gurgled at times. The day was mostly over. All he needed was to survive the day, and then he could forget about it all. At that thought, it was like his body snapped out of a trance. The water on his face was annoying. The floor was uncomfortable. The cold water made him shiver.

He dried off slowly watching himself in the mirror. The reflection was both comforting and upsetting. Internally, his sense of self was shifted, but outwardly he looked the same. The same Arthur that greeted him every morning stared back at him now. Yes, he didn't look as happy as he could. Then again, he's looked at a tear stained version of him, at an angry red-faced version, and so much worse. His eyes didn't look so different from the way they always did.

He wanted to smack himself. He wanted to make the other him look as distraught as he felt. He wanted to tear into his skin just so that he could see _something. _He wanted the horror of his family's judgements to hurt more than it was, more than it had been hurting for months back before it was tangible.

Tugging on his shirt, he nodded to himself. Just make it through the day. He looked at his chest. His parents didn't even know he owned and sometimes wore this torn up t-shirt.

The house was bright and relatively quiet despite the fact Arthur felt like he was walking through a horror movie waiting for the jump scare. Not running into family immediately shouldn't have been so surprising considering it was a weekday in the summer.

He spent the day on edge, dodging his family however he could, waiting for the next blow. At one point he sat on the floor of his closet, half to hide from a potential ambush and half for privacy. He needed to get rid of his stash before his family went digging, didn't he? He just wished he would have considered the possibility of a nosebleed when using like this. It helped though. Each little high bought him a little closer to the night. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was getting him through.

At the call of his name, he sat up. It was time for dinner.

When he made it downstairs, his three family members were already sitting. Scott didn't look at him but his parents gave his accessing glances as they ate in silence. Arthur glanced into the kitchen noting how the notebook they took was still sitting on the counter like it had been all day. As if his gaze activated something, his dad began talking.

"We've been reading your stuff, Arthur, and have a lot to ask about."

Arthur glared at Scott who had the gall to look guilty. "I don't know what there is to talk about."

Mr. Kirkland sighed. "Arthur. I think you know."

"Not really," Arthur spat, "It's just some shitty amateur writing, who cares?"

"Arthur," Mrs. Kirkland gasped at his outburst.

Arthur clenched his jaw.

Mr. Kirkland threatened, "Do you need me to read pages from this… _journal_?"

"Who the hell ever called it a journal?"

"Don't try to deflect."

"It's poetry; creative writing."

"It's definitely a little too creative, and we need to deal with it. Now."

Arthur stood. His arms were shaking. He wanted to yell. He wanted to run. "Oh yeah. And you think you can deal with me? I'm not Walt."

Scott paused. Mrs. Kirkland let out a "oh honey." Mr. Kirkland's eyes narrowed. "No, you are not, and you better sit down. Now."

Arthur stepped back and shook his head. "I don't know what you are going to do."

"Anything that needs to be done."

The words felt muffled. His head was underwater. The only clear sound was his thudding heart. "I'll - I'll leave now then."

He bolted. The calls from his family echoed up the stairs behind him, but he ignored them letting his feet carry him. His bedroom door slammed behind him. On instinct, he grabbed his wallet before opening the window and stumbling onto the roof. The constant nights of drunkenly climbing the roof allowed him the muscle memory to stay upright and jump into the back garden safely.

Once he hit the grass, he ran, knowing that he only had a few minutes at most before his family went into his room and saw the window left wide open. He was numb in the worst way. He felt so much, that it was as if he felt nothing at all. Panic and shame thudded under his skin so badly he considered cutting it open just to see if he could release the demons inside that weighed him down.

No.

There was another way.

It was early, but by now he knew exactly where to find him.

Ivan was standing against the side of a popular disco smoking. He looked relaxed and casual, but on closer inspection you could see his eyes were alert and constantly observing the people walking past. It was a spot Arthur was accustomed to at this point. Ivan was always here when he didn't have anyone to meet. The business of people heading into the disco was probably steady. Plus, there was easy access to an almost always empty alleyway that Arthur was accustomed to at this point when needing to exchange services for product when his funds were low.

Ivan's scanning eyes met Arthur's panicked ones.

"Hello, Arthur. What can I do for you this evening? The usual?"

"I don't know. I just don't know," Arthur shifted to stop himself from full out pacing. Ivan tilted his head to observe the other. Arthur took a calming breath and ran his hands back and forth over his head. "I - I don't want to feel fucking anything. That's what I need."

Ivan dropped his cigarette and moved to stand close to Arthur. "That I can do for you." He grabbed Arthur's hand and put it against himself pressing Arthur's palm to his crotch. "And I know just how you can afford it."

Arthur gasped, "I have cash." He pulled his hand away from a surprised Ivan and dug out his wallet. When he decided to go all in earlier, he actually did and completely emptied out his mom's purse. He pulled out a wad of bills. "Will this do? It's what it normally costs, but if this is different I don't…" He trailed off frustrated. He could barely concentrate. The conversation with his family, the looks on their faces, kept haunting him.

Ivan snatched the cash and flipped through the bills. "This will work."

They made the exchange. Arthur ignored any suggestive comments from Ivan about coming back and jogged away. He wanted to be alone. He didn't want to run into anyone. He didn't want to be forced to watch the happy faces of people out with friends enjoying themselves.

He slowed when he reached a concert venue he had still yet to go into and turned down a familiar alley. His breath slowed as he let the sounds of people dissipate and the noise of a soundcheck bleeding through the brick stabilize him.

Sitting on the ground, he prepared a needle and tied off his arm. The motions overtook him the same way people could drive home from work mindlessly. He thought about himself. He thought about his family. It would have been better if he wasn't alive, if he hadn't been born. Things would be easier for everyone that way. His family was always meant to be a family of four, and he had no purpose existing.

He pulled out the needle with a breath, and closed his eyes pretending he could already feel whatever high he would get taking hold.

One thought circled in his head: _fuck _his family.

Arthur felt a presence near him. He opened his eyes even though it was probably a reaction from the drugs.

"Arthur," a hazy voice gaped. Arthur turned his head to meet the wide eyes of a stiff Francis.

"Fucking shit," Arthur muttered. The moment he opened his mouth Francis was already at his side, stuttering through something to say. He slowed to silence as his fingers traced the hand Arthur was using to hold the small syringe. Francis' face grew dark.

"What did you take?" he demanded.

Arthur lulled his head. "Fuck if I know."

Francis's jaw twitched. "You don't know?"

Arthur shook his head no. He shifted so he was sitting up more. Shame that being caught by Francis was ruining his high, although it wasn't the same elevated high he normally got. Wow, he really didn't know what was in this one.

Francis traced a hand over Arthur's face pushing his bangs back and trying to get the other to turn towards him without forcing it.

"You're not supposed to see me like this."

Tilting his head, Francis asked, "Then who is?"

"No one."

"You can't make me believe that you deserve to be alone." Frances went from squatting to sitting next to Arthur, not showing any discomfort for having to sit on the muggy ground.

Arthur's throat closed. He swallowed back tears.

Francis continued running fingers through Arthur's hair focusing on the nape. "What happened, mon lapin?"

Arthur let out a shaky breath and shivered. "So much."

Francis just nodded having at least some guesses. He stood slowly. "We can talk about it later. Why don't you come with me and get sobered up?" Francis grabbed Arthur's wrists and pulled him into a swayed standing position.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't deserve…"

"Don't deserve the shit you have to go through, I know."

Arthur bit his lip trying to hold back the feelings he hoped he could artificially deny.

"It's going to be okay, Arthur." Francis positioned himself so he had one arm around Arthur to guide him as they walked.

"You don't know that."

"Who knows you better than me?"

Arthur shrugged, not feeling up to talking, his head muddled from everything and whatever he put into his system.

"And right now you probably can't trust your own brain, so trust the person who knows you best. It's going to be okay."

Arthur nodded twice just to show that he heard.

They walked in silence. Despite not being far, needing Francis's help to stay at a steady pace slowed them down a lot. It was okay, because the cool air seemed to help, and it was nice to be moving instead of sitting stagnant somewhere. A familiar home loomed overhead.

"We're at your house," Arthur observed.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't want to go home tonight."

Arthur nodded and opened his mouth a few times. Francis spoke as he shifted to grab his keys. "My parents aren't home. Don't worry."

"Okay," Arthur whispered.

Francis had Arthur follow him into the kitchen. Arthur started to rub at his head. Francis didn't stop moving, grabbing a large glass and filling it up at the sink.

"You're probably dehydrated."

"What?"

Francis nodded at Arthur. "You have a headache?"

"Yeah," Arthur admitted, lowering his hand.

Francis huffed in acknowledgement. Holding a full glass of water, he led Arthur up the stairs. Arthur's slow pace was partially due to how he felt and partially due to him observing the house. The walls were stuffed full of pictures, some landscapes, some art, and lots of Francis. He paused halfway up the stairs, his eyes meeting a grinning younger Francis who was wearing some large feminine hat. Judging by the setting, he had grabbed it from his mom's closet and took the picture then and there. Francis paused and turned around to see what was holding Arthur up.

"Are you feeling okay," Francis asked cautiously.

Arthur tapped the photo. "I like this one."

Francis sighed but his mouth quirked up. "Come on. You can look at embarrassing pictures later."

Arthur shook his head. He had no idea why he felt so passionate about this. "It's not though! It's nice. We don't have this kind of stuff." Francis bit his lip and narrowed his eyes briefly.

"You're having trouble focusing. Let's sit down." He grabbed Arthur's arm again and led him into his room which felt just as clustered as the stairs. This time Arthur couldn't get himself to focus on anything other than the fact that the room was full. Francis prodded him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Arthur plopped down and grabbed the glass of water Francis was thrusting at him. He didn't drink but watched it ripple, as Francis watched him from a chair he pulled close to the bed.

"They know," Arthur murmured. His eyes twitched.

"How'd they take it?"

"I didn't stick around much, but not good."

"Did you tell them?"

"I was suspicious because I didn't seem interested in Emma."

Francis blinked and leaned back.

"Then, Scott brought up my notebooks," Arthur spat.

"Your… notebooks?"

Arthur shot Francis a look. "You've read them. You know."

Francis's eyes widened. "Shit."

"Exactly. I left when they started talking about helping me. Who knows if I'm even welcome back home."

"They could have been talking about something else."

"And what the fuck could that be?"

Francis nodded in the direction of Arthur's arm.

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face hard, letting his calloused palm scrape against him almost painfully. "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"You took a cocaine break at dinner."

"That's an assumption."

"I'm not an idiot."

"That you are not."

"What are you going to do now?"

Arthur chuckled humorously. "There's nothing left for me to do. I'll just keep this up until I can't anymore."

Francis opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur interrupted swirling his water glass. "I can't belong anywhere. I am nobody. I have no values. I have no family. I have no money. I can suck dick for a hit and… and…" His voice cracked. "and be what everyone thinks I am."

At Francis's silence, Arthur glanced up. His eyes widened. Francis was crying, actual tears running down his face.

Arthur panicked. "I didn't mean - Francis don't cry."

"You're full of shit," Francis spat.

Arthur flinched.

"You think this is all you're good for, but you're fucking wrong. You think you have nothing? You're the most talented person I know. Who the fuck cares if some people don't appreciate what you write? Tons already recognize how great it is. You think you don't have family? You have Walt. Have you even tried to reach out to him since he moved away? You're afraid you don't have friends here? What about Torris and Felix? They care. Actually, they are really worried. They've seen you around. They know you're avoiding them. They saw you around Ivan a few times. They're fucking _worried_ and don't know what to do about it."

Francis stared.

In a shaky voice he continued, "And what about me?"

Arthur closed his eyes. "I can't contaminate you."

"Contaminate?" Francis yelped and stood.

Arthur shifted. "I fucked up too much. You're too perfect. I could ruin you." Arthur hunched waiting for Francis to say he already had. Instead arms wrapped around him. Arthur's eyes widened as Francis hugged him.

Francis spat, "You're full of so much shit for someone so smart."

At that, Arthur let himself cry. He let the dam holding everything back open and bawled into someone's arms. For the first time in a long time, he let himself be comforted. He let Francis rub his back, shush him, tell him to let go, and wipe away his tears.

They stayed like that for a long time. They stayed when Arthur's tear ducts ran dry. They stayed as Arthur calmed down, as he drank his water. They stayed.

"You're too perfect, Francis," Arthur whispered.

Francis's mouth quirked. "You've mentioned it, but it's always nice to hear."

Arthur huffed. "It's - I'm happy, happy that you are looking out for me and stuff, but I have no idea how to be better." He put his hands on his neck and pulled himself forward looking down. "I don't even know where to start."

Francis leaned into Arthur. "Do you know what I was doing tonight? What I have been up to recently?"

Arthur shook his head no.

"I've been planning with Torris and Felix." As an afterthought, Francis added, "Vlad a little bit too, but mostly Torris and Felix."

"Planning what?"

"How to help."

"I don't think preparation is what I need."

"No, but support and people who might understand could be."

Arthur bit his lip. As much as he wanted to deny help, this is exactly what he's been secretly wanting.

Francis continued, "Remember the bookstore we went to a long time ago?"

Arthur nodded.

"They have these groups - "

"I don't think a book club is what I need."

"You would love the book club I go to, but it's not that. A lot of people in the community struggle with the same stuff you are. They also don't really have anywhere else they can go, so they meet up and talk about it. Torris is really into it and helps organize everything."

Arthur hummed.

"Remember Raivis?"

"Yeah."

"He goes."

"Victims of Ivan club?"

"Among other things."

"Ah," Arthur vocalized incredulously. It seemed a little petty but also too good to be true.

"Torris isn't an idiot. I think he figured out what was wrong with you before I did."

"And what's wrong with me?"

"The struggle between who you want to be and who you are." Arthur's insides froze.

"And I thought I wasn't transparent."

"I just know you too well."

"That you do." Arthur yawned.

Francis's lips quirked. "Maybe we should talk more tomorrow."

"Yeah, I need to sleep this shit off."

Francis got up to leave, but Arthur grabbed his arm. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

"No. For more than this. For working with everyone to find me a way out."

"Maybe you should consider it a way in?"

Arthur shook his head. "I think escaping my box is a way out, and… thanks for giving me a push. Just… it's going to be hard for me, so push me. I'm going to need it."

"Mon lapin, I don't need to be told twice to harass you."

Arthur smiled. "I guess not."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"'Night, Francis."

* * *

Disoriented. Arthur was disoriented. His throat was dry from crying the night before. His head ached. Sitting up, he chugged a glass of water that was next to the bed. The unfamiliarity of the room caused him to need a few minutes to catch his bearings. A lot had happened. A lot was going to continue to happen for a while, but at least he had help making some of the decisions.

Arthur took the moment alone to actually observe Francis's room. Last night was the first night he had ever been inside. Before, he tried to avoid being alone with Francis somewhere like this. He was worried about what urges he'd give into when surrounded by this kind of comfort. Now, he questions how much about Francis he was missing out on.

The room was cluttered, not in a messy way. It was just full. The walls were stuffed with posters, drawings, photographs, all kinds of art. Books were stacked on the desk and the floor. There was some clutter near the closet - clothes and the like. A lot about it reminded Arthur of Walt if Walt was more of a romantic and into the things Arthur was into.

He stood and, after fixing the bed to the best of his ability, began to walk along the wall taking in everything. He spotted pictures of Francis and Felix. There was a shot of a large group of people in what looked like the bookstore. He assumed that was the bookclub Francis once invited him to. He paused on a large drawing depicting a scene from _Pride and Prejudice _when the door opened.

"Oh! You're awake," observed Francis obviously surprised.

Arthur gestured to the drawing. "Did you make this?"

Francis leaned against the wall and looked at it. "It was a gift."

Arthur nodded and moved on to the other things on the wall. "A good gift for you."

"You don't need to look at everything you know?" Francis proposed.

Arthur didn't turn around but raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously." Francis must be hiding something to ask twice.

Arthur lingered on a paper. It was ripped out from a notebook. Tape covered it completely creating a homemade laminate. Arthur traced it. "What's this?"

Arthur could feel Francis bolt behind him. "Nothing!"

Tilting his head curiously, Arthur leaned forward to read. He murmured the lines of familiar handwriting to himself:

_Thoughts on the Existence of Magic_

_When I was younger, I believed in magic -_

_The talking beasts and secret worlds of oral history._

_If we told these stories forever, they must have been real at least once._

_When experience aged my mind, I believed in practical magic -_

_The tales of other worlds and brave rescues laid out in written word._

_If the books were hoarded and consumed, one could travel there if only for a while._

_When I heard him speak, I believed he lacked experience -_

_The relaxed way he dreamed openly and seemed to exhume the essence of fantasy._

_If his otherworldly nature and gleaming eyes could be around forever…_

_His presence feels like the answer to a quest given by an unseen Lion._

_When I met him, experience washed away curing my curse._

_If he exists, maybe magic could be real after all._

Arthur took a step back, surprised and turned to look at Francis who was not meeting his eyes. A pink dust coated Francis's cheek as he looked at the top corner of the room.

"Francis…"

"Huh?" He still wouldn't look.

"Why did you keep this?"

Francis then looked at him. Arthur's face shifted back and forth between amusement and confusion. He had never seen Francis embarrassed before but didn't understand why the poem he ripped out and gave to Francis so long ago was protected and pinned to the wall.

"You gave it to me," Francis stated as if that could be answer enough.

"I, uh, I did. It's just," Arthur glanced at the poem which was in a prime wall spot then back to Francis, "I thought you would use it as a bookmark and then lose it or throw it away."

Francis crossed his arms defensively. "It's a good poem. I like it."

"I… It's…" Arthur blinked rapidly trying to figure out what he was feeling. "It was written by a stranger."

Francis cocked his head. "You aren't a stranger."

"I remember when I gave this to you at the first dinner. We just met."

Francis rubbed at his chin. "No. We met before. You just forgot."

"Yeah but years ago."

"I remembered that." Francis shrugged. "I mentioned at the dinner too. I said something about how it was good to see you again." In a quieter voice Francis added, "I remembered you very well."

"You remembered some dumb kid you barely knew when you were younger?"

Francis shifted. "Let's go with that."

Arthur looked at the poem again. It had been treated with such care.

"We should eat breakfast. I started some tea."

Arthur nodded glancing between Francis and the poem one last time before following him out of the room. There was too much to do to spend time discussing something like saving a page from Arthur's notebook.

Once they sat in the kitchen, each holding a cup of tea Francis asked, "What are you planning to do now?"

"I think I want to do that group thing." Arthur leaned into his hand. "As tempting as it is, I can't keep doing what I've been. Even I know I'm reaching a dangerous breaking point, so might as well attempt to be... whatever." He couldn't get himself to say better and his upbringing wouldn't let him consider anything he was looking into being as normal.

"I called Torris already. There's a meeting tomorrow."

"Cool."

Francis hesitated. "My parents come home in a few days, this weekend."

Arthur furrowed his brow. Francis clarified, "What do you plan to do about going home?"

Arthur crushed his eyes shut for a moment and slowly opened them trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I can't avoid them forever, can I?"

"You'll need to go home, Arthur."

"I," Arthur let out a sigh, "I prefer not going home cold turkey."

Francis leaned forward, eyes assessing. "How bad is it exactly?"

"It's not! I swear. It was more of a casual thing before this week." Arthur rubbed at his face. It was mostly true, but he was having cravings before this week. God, he hoped he wouldn't actually get symptoms.

Francis shook his head at a loss.

"Okay. I got it. Okay?"

Francis raised an eyebrow at Arthur's attempt to both psych himself up and calm himself down.

Arthur outlined his plan. "I think I should stay one more night and go to the meeting thing. Maybe that will make me feel better, uh, mentally. Plus, I'll have a better idea how I am physically and be more prepared. If I feel up to it, I can go home the next day."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll figure it out."

Francis gave him a concerned look.

Arthur took a long sip of tea and put the cup down. "One day at a time."

"Okay." Francis tipped his cup towards Arthur in a mock salute. "One day at a time."

* * *

A/N: Finally got past the poem hump. I had a lot I wanted for it, and after getting an anon on tumblr I just said fucked it and grabbed the best fitting one from what I had and am just pushing forward.

I'm still super obsessed with this chapter and everything involving Francis. I have no idea how universal using tape as a was to keep paper protected, but it was a thing in my life growing up.

More updates coming actually soon this time! Hope ya'll enjoyed the double update


	12. Chapter 12

_12: How Gentlemen Dream and Heal_

Staying with Francis was surprisingly pleasant, or at least as pleasant as could be expected when he was craving a fix so much. Arthur regretted depleting his stash the day before, mostly because he felt like upping how much he took was giving him early withdrawal symptoms. It normally took a little longer for him to get cravings this bad. Then again, for someone so interested in knowledge, he never looked into what the drugs were actually doing to his system.

He woke up from a restless sleep and was agitated. He snapped at Francis, apologized, snapped again, and then felt outright depressed about being a dick. He tried to shower to get his head on straight. The warm water helped. He knew what this was. If he could get past it, he'd be fine. What he really hoped was for someone tonight to have some sort of tips.

As he got out of the shower, he avoided meeting his reflection, focusing only on changing. He borrowed a plain soft t-shirt from Francis. He tried to borrow pants, but he wasn't nearly as lean as Francis in the waist area. Instead, he had been wearing some of Francis's too-long pajama pants, while Francis washed his jeans. He felt goofy in the pastel t-shirt and his now clean, black ripped up pants, but this is just who he is now.

When he entered the living room, Francis was lounging on the couch. "Shower make you feel any better?"

Arthur nodded and went to sit on the chair, creating a reverse of the first time Arthur slept on the couch. "A little. Sorry about being snappy."

"It's okay."

"Doesn't feel okay. You've only ever been helpful."

Francis rearranged himself so that he was leaning against the arm of the couch facing Arthur while still laying down. "And I know that you never mean to hurt with your words and actually are being a softie."

Arthur snorted and turned away, settling into the chair perpendicularly with his legs hanging over the arm farthest from Francis.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Arthur staring at the ceiling and Francis watching Arthur with soft eyes.

Francis proposed, "Want to listen to something?" He stood up before waiting for a response, but paused by the record player tucked into the corner of the room as if he wouldn't play anything if Arthur said no.

Arthur shrugged. "Sure."

Francis fiddled loudly while setting everything up, never caring to contain himself in a way to act quietly. Arthur smiled at his antics, still looking at the ceiling, thinking. A slowly building instrumental melody filled the room.

Arthur furrowed his brow and lifted his head to look at Francis who was walking back to the couch.

"Is this Choplin?"

Francis plopped down. "Yep. Points for recognizing the artist."

Arthur stared at Francis upsidedown assessing.

"What?" Francis asked.

"Just didn't know you like classical music," Arthur said slowly. He turned back to look at the ceiling again so that Francis couldn't see his face.

"Love it actually. I play it when I cook sometimes. Makes it easier to pretend I'm a real chef."

Arthur bit his lip and turned over completely with a groan. He was still draped awkwardly over the chair, but now his arms were crossed over the arm on the chair and his chin was resting on them.

"You could be, you know?"

"I could."

"And you want to be? Like that's your big dream?"

Francis's eyes twinkled. "I don't know if I'd call it my big dream."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Francis shrugged his shoulder not leaning on the couch. "There's more to life than careers."

Arthur let out a whistle. "Haven't heard that one before."

"Really?" Francis didn't even try to hide his shock.

"Is that you trying to say that it's weird?"

"Nothing's weird, but…"

"You don't have to censor yourself for my sake. You should know that at this point."

"It's sad."

Arthur blinked and nodded grimly.

Francis sat up so that he was sitting criss cross. "I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the circumstance. Like, no one around you ever dreamed of something other than work - not family, not accomplishing some other intangible goal - that's a harsh outlook on life to be surrounded by."

"What's your dream?"

"What?" Francis looked taken aback.

"You said your big dream wasn't being a chef. Best start surrounding myself with better stuff now. Besides, I want to know."

Francis flushed. "It's, uh -"

Arthur cut him off. "Don't say it's silly. Come on. We're best friends. You share, and I'll think of something to share.

Francis fiddled with his ponytail. "Love."

Arthur pursed his lips. Then, moved to a sitting position, his neck getting sore from looking at Francis from that angle despite it being a great angle - the light hit his hair really nicely from a low viewpoint.

"What about love?"

"I have a lot of ideas about what I'd consider the dream on that front, practically a checklist at this point," Francis deflected

Arthur hummed. "Sounds exactly like you."

A pause.

Arthur asked, "Are you going to share any? If it's a long list, I'm sure you can find some to share."

"It's really not that interesting. I'm very average. Just looking for falling in love, getting married, maybe kids, a chef job where I can be creative in a kitchen but still have family time."

"Married with kids?"

"The world could change. I could adopt. Besides, it's the big dream. You have to dream big. I have tons of little dreams too."

"Strange being friends with an optimist."

Francis tilted his head. "Strange can be a compliment."

"It is. I meant, the optimism. It's real nice."

Francis nodded looking a mix between solemn and pleased.

Arthur summarized, "So tiny dreams. That'd be being a chef and falling in love."

"Reciprocated love," Francis corrected.

Arthur's brow rose. "Of course," he agreed. The correction only made him feel like he knew less about Francis than he thought, and the fact irked him. His stomach clenched.

Francis leaned into the arm of the couch. "What about you? What's been one of your dreams?"

"I don't know if I've ever had a good big dream."

"Surely you've had some small ones."

Arthur thought hard. His throat constricted as he reflected on himself, and he had to wait until he had control before he could come up with something he deemed sensible enough to say.

"I think… I think I'd want to write. I don't know what I would like to write, but it would be nice to be creative with words every day."

Francis nodded. Arthur took that as enough encouragement to say more. "Lots of writers get to work from home offices and stuff, which would allow me to be home. I could, you know, be around whatever family I end up with more than, more than what it's like in my house now."

"But I guess that skips a lot," Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck.

"What do you mean? Seems like a pleasant dream to have."

"If I think about it too much, that future family is faceless or just disappears. I never," Arthur swallowed thickly, "I never really let myself imagine relationships and falling in love before. It's why I really really like how optimistic you are about it. You said you dreamt of marriage and family like it's not a big deal, but it is. It's a huge deal for people like us, and after everything my parents have always told me about this 'lifestyle' I just - it's hard to not feel selfish, like I'm risking hurting myself and others for an intangible storybook idea."

Francis's face grew cold. "I don't think you can trust them to know anything about this at all."

Arthur let out a wet sigh. "But I've trusted them and listened to them about everything else."

"Arthur…"

"I feel like I'm always telling you that you don't get it, so I won't say it again, but, Francis, they've taught me everything about the world, and that's who I am. If they're wrong," Arthur didn't finish shaking his head instead.

Francis leaned forward. His hands gripped the end of the couch as if that was the one thing stopping him from going over to Arthur. "But how many of those things made you happy? How many were just you struggling to make yourself fit?"

Arthur stared at Francis emotionless.

After a tense moment, Francis leaned back slowly. "Just because they are wrong on this front, doesn't mean you can't still be the man they influenced you to become. People can be wrong about some things and right about others. Only you understand who you are."

Arthur's lips quirked; he cracked a watery joke, "I thought you always said you knew me better than everyone else."

Francis huffed a short laugh. "I guess I don't consider you everyone else."

Arthur nodded slowly considering his words. The two sat listening to the record until Francis had to get up to change it out, making the decision that they should continue listening. Once he sat down, Arthur stated, "I want to know more about you."

"Oh?"

"You know everything there is to know about me. It's kind of unfair."

"I consider myself very transparent," Francis teased.

"I suppose." Arthur knew Francis was right. You could know almost everything there was to know about Francis's personality and inner self just by spending an hour with him, and Arthur spent many many hours with him.

"Who gave you the Pride and Prejudice poster?"

Francis's face projected amusement. "Someone from bookclub."

"It's your favorite book."

"It is."

"Not Jane Eyre." Arthur had always liked the idea that Francis had given him his favorite book.

"Ah, it was for a short time. I mostly thought you would like that best."

"So, the person who gave you the drawing, a, uh, lover?"

Francis barked a laugh. "God no."

Arthur blushed and scowled to try to hide his embarrassment. "Worth asking."

Francis slowly gained control of his laughter. "No, no, it's a viable question, but, no, not a lover. The bookclub did a secret santa thing, so it was a good friend, someone more of a sibling than anyone I'd want to pursue something like that with."

"Oh, well that's good."

"Good?"

"You know what I mean."

Francis tilted his head but Arthur continued talking before he could say a response.

"Why is it your favorite book?"

"Well, lots of reasons. I like the romance."

"Kind of stuffy, isn't it?"

"Psh, you need to reread it. Elizabeth broke boundaries. Besides, I like Mr. Darcy."

"Kind of a douche though, right?"

Francis smirked. "Or shy and bad at talking."

Arthur thought about it to himself. He couldn't remember enough details of the book to refute anything Francis was saying.

Francis interrupted Arthur's thoughts. "Why do you like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe best?"

"That's a hard question to answer. Plus, it's tied with Jane Eyre for my favorite now."

Francis beamed. "A good choice." A more serious look flickered over his face. "I always wanted to ask about the note in the cover, the one from Walt."

"It's just a thing he wrote for my birthday. He always liked to try to give this vague advice to me when I was younger. I think it made him feel wise. Honestly, I bet it still does."

"Have you talked to him recently?"

Arthur looked at his hands. "Not since he left. I was trying to figure out a letter to tell him everything, but now," Arthur waved one hand about as if that could fully articulate everything better than he could.

Francis let out a low whistle.

"Exactly. My parents probably got to him at this point."

"Always worth trying. I bet it'd be good to call."

"Maybe. I'm still in the boat of avoiding family."

"Until after the meeting tonight."

Arthur shot him a glance. "Yeah."

After that they fell into silence, letting the classical music flow over them, enjoying each other's company in the otherwise silent house.

* * *

That evening Arthur found himself staring at his reflection. What does one wear to a support group full of homosexuals with addiction problems and whatever other issues were relevant? He was still wearing one of Francis's pastel shirts which fit snugly against his form but also seemed to hang too long. He ran a hand through his hair considering fixing it like he would when he went out, but instead ended up patting it down. He only knew how to be around people like this at bars and discos, but he supposed there was a different etiquette here. The best he could do was hope that gays accepted the general gentleman etiquette his dad taught him and didn't mind an off kilter fashion sense.

He shouldn't even be stressing. When Francis was cooking them dinner, he had sat on the counter watching and vocally stressed about the upcoming meeting. Francis eloquently told him he was full of shit and that being himself was the best bet - whatever that meant.

Francis always made universal statements that felt like they belonged on some cheesy school poster that didn't actually motivate students; rather, made the teachers feel better. Yet, when Francis repeated idioms, Arthur actually believed him.

A knock on the bathroom door brought Arthur back to himself.

Francis's voice muffled through, "Ready to head out? It's a bit of a walk from here."

With a deep breath, Arthur opened the door and left for the meeting.

The early evening was cool, and as it was a weekday after rush hour, relatively quiet. Francis tried to keep them on residential roads where most people were inside having dinner instead of the busier commercial streets that could have some after work shoppers.

They walked mostly in silence, but despite the nerves Arthur felt, it was comfortable. It was as if they were meant to walk side by side on a sidewalk just enjoying the close presence of the other. At times, Arthur had to stop himself from reaching out to grab Francis's hand. For a few blocks, he walked with his hands behind his back just to resist the temptation to brush the back of his hand against his friend's. The one thing he's been right about this entire time was how spending time like this with Francis being open and alone would make it harder for him to hold back, harder for him to deny his feelings. He was wrong in thinking that he wouldn't like it. Although he still felt like there was a forcefield stopping him and that Francis was an untamable force, he was content to bask in these feelings and embrace the moment.

Francis slowed his pace as they reached the last block. "You ready?"

"No idea. I don't even know who will be there."

"I think it's a diverse group. Anyone who needs support for whatever. Torris will be there."

"And Felix?"

"I don't think so."

"Thank God. I can only handle so much energy right now, and he's going to have my head for avoiding him next time he sees me."

Francis laughed, "You have that right." After half a block of silence, Francis stopped. "Do you need me to wait around for after?"

Arthur pocketed his hands. "I think I can find my way back on my own. Might be good to have some time to think for a bit."

"Okay, yeah, sounds good." Francis shifted.

"Just don't go to bed and, then, leave me locked out. Alright, Frog?"

"I am not a Frog. I am a man," Francis corrected, then smiled. "I'll do that." He gripped Arthur's shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Arthur let out a breath. "Thanks."

Francis nodded, said goodbye, and turned to leave. Arthur stood watching his friend's back for a moment, taking the time to stare without shame. Once Francis went half a block, Arthur turned and entered the bookshop.

* * *

A/N: Hope ya'll like emotional conversations because oh boy does that seem to be all I'm writing recently. Good news is that I'm almost done with at least the draft for the remaining chapters, so the end is near.

I'm also slowly archiving all this on AO3, and will post future stuff there consecutively with here for the time being (maybe only there eventually, since this site isn't the most writer friendly and as far as I can tell people use both)

Also how is everyone doing with COVID19? I'm trying to pump out fics more since we are all slowly being stuck at home. Hope everyone is okay.

Double also I'm on tumblr as allavengedromance and twitter as bethfrombackrow if you want to follow or chat there (full discretion: I just finished the Magnus Archives and am being kind of spammy)


	13. Chapter 13

_13: When Two Gentlemen Meet_

A bell attached to the door dinged as Arthur entered the shop ignoring the closed sign against the door. He looked around confused at how empty it was until a familiar head popped out from a doorway behind the counter. Torris beamed.

"Arthur! Good to see you. We're back here!"

Arthur lifted a hand in greeting and walked towards Torris trying to ignore the way his stomach knotted tighter the closer he got. When he got close to the door, Torris put a hand on his back to steer him into the room saying in a low voice, "Glad you could make it."

Arthur planned to say something in response, but his words slipped away as he entered the back room. The area was part storage for the store, part office, and part lounge. There were bookshelves full of what Arthur assumed were extra books or copies taken off display, boxes stacked in seemingly random areas, and a small desk in the corner stacked with papers likely for running the business. A couch against the one blank wall, various chairs around, and even an old bean bag filled the space. It was small, but homey, if not a little stuffy from the crowd.

"Guys," Torris said, addressing the people around the room, "This is Arthur. It's his first time, so don't be assholes."

Everyone greeted or waved. Arthur only recognized two people - Raivis on the couch and the girl from the first time he went to the bookstore spinning around in the desk chair.

Torris addressed Arthur, "We are waiting for one other person, but if they don't show up soon, we'll start without them."

Arthur nodded. Torris tilted his head at the clearly overwhelmed Arthur. "You know it's really casual here. Just a safe space. You don't have to say anything. A lot of them just like to rant about the problems in their lives."

"Something tells me this is your way of saying it's not just drug problems."

Torris shrugged. "Like I said it's a safe place for people to get support. Some people have family problems or other things they are trying to get passed and have nowhere else to go."

Arthur sighed, "Family problems. No wonder Francis was so encouraging."

Torris was prepared to say something in defense of Francis, but a cough interrupted them.

Arthur turned to look at a short, blond man. If he wasn't analyzing his face closely, he'd assume the guy was much younger than him, but up close he could make out tiny features that hinted at a little bit more age and experience.

"Hi, I'm Tino. I help Torris run meetings," Tino greeted cheerfully sticking a hand out for Arthur to shake.

Arthur shook his hand. Tino's handshake was rather unremarkable, not notably good or bad, something Arthur had trouble reading. He wondered if this was how his handshake felt like from the other side.

"Arthur," he said distractedly.

"I know it can be hard to meet people like this. You can sit next to me and Raivis on the couch if you want."

Arthur nodded along and went to sit down. He greeted Raivis who seemed a tad jittery; his greeting making Tino smile. Tino was short enough that when sunken all the way back into the ratty couch his feet didn't quite hit the ground. It didn't seem to bug him, and he waved his legs back and forth minutely.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair claiming, "I kind of know you, Tino."

"Oh?" Tino responded pleasantly.

"I know Berwald, kind of," Arthur blurted, his brain stopping himself from mentioning his brothers. He liked how welcoming Tino was and wanted him to remain that way.

"Really? He's great, isn't he?" As impossible as it seemed, Tino got even happier when talking about his boyfriend.

"You're definitely an interesting couple."

Tino laughed. "You have no idea how often I get that."

Arthur snorted.

"How do you know him?"

"I don't really," Arthur admitted, "Just talked to him a few times when he was working, and you came up."

Tino leaned back humming contently.

Arthur swallowed. "I also think you know my brother, well maybe both of them. I don't know."

Tino sombered slightly and adjusted so that he was facing Arthur straight on more. "Who?"

"I, uh, think you went to school with one. I'm not sure." Arthur shifted. "I guess I didn't say my whole name earlier. I'm a Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland?"

Tino leaned back into the arm of the couch letting out a small breath. "And you are here?"

Arthur hunched forward. "Yeah."

"That's hard."

Arthur shot Tino an assessing look.

Tino explained, "Our dads work together. I know a little about how your family appears."

Arthur swore he saw empathy in Tino's eyes.

Arthur huffed and turned to face the rest of the room taking everyone in. Torris was talking to a newcomer by the door — must be the straggler. Tino must have seen him too, because he leaned close to Arthur and whispered, "You should talk to me more after."

Arthur turned quickly to look at Tino who nodded in encouragement. Arthur nodded back unsure if he even had it in him to refuse. After the horrific dinner with his family, he wanted to know more about Tino, and this may be his only shot.

He didn't have the chance to say anything then and there, because Torris began the meeting by making a few announcements and having everyone introduce themselves and say a fun fact. The beginning definitely felt more like camp than the pseudo-group therapy Francis made it out to be. Then, Torris opened the floor for everyone to share anything new, and Arthur finally understood why this seemed so important.

People told stories. They talked about things Arthur couldn't imagine saying to his family let alone strangers, and others responded with sympathy, empathy and advice. Time passed as everyone just… talked — talked and listened and comforted. Arthur kept his time sharing short and sweet saying only what he felt he needed help with the most — mentioning staying with a friend but going home soon. Hell, he even said he wasn't used to sharing, that he didn't have much of that in him for the time being. Instead of encouraging him to keep going, everyone claimed they understood and moved on. Eventually, he found strength in himself to add more.

Arthur didn't feel the time pass.

He knew he would come back.

At the end, people lingered out in the front of the shop chatting a little bit, some deciding to walk together. Arthur stood off to the side, letting himself explore the shop openly in a way he hadn't let himself last time. He paused by the occult books.

"So, what'd you think?" Torris appeared behind Arthur.

Arthur stopped himself from running his fingers along book spines and turned around. "It's something. Weird. But I can see why it helps."

They stood together awkwardly. The time Arthur spent avoiding his friend shown in that moment.

Torris proposed, "We should hang out soon. Felix would love to see you. He misses his clueless Brit."

"You just heard me talk about addiction issues. I think I should take a break from going out like that."

Torris raised an eyebrow. "You do realize we also like coffee and tea, right?"

"I, uh," Arthur stuttered, "I'm sorry. That was rude."

Torris pushed at his shoulder. "It's okay. We all know you can be hard headed."

"Whatever."

"So?"

"Yeah, I think meeting up sometime would be good. I'll probably need it. Just, um, after I figure out -" Arthur finished the thought by waving his hand around, not wanting to mention his family.

"Of course."

Arthur wanted to say more, he felt like he needed to; yet, the words to say still evaded him. Luckily, Tino emerged from the back room as a distraction. Torris turned to see what Arthur was looking at and they ended up both watching Tino approach.

"So, Arthur, where are you heading?" Tino asked.

"Uh, I'm staying with Francis." He rattled off the vague location of Francis's house using landmarks.

Tino hummed in thought. "Okay, one second." He then turned and walked back into the back room.

"Wait what?" Tino didn't hear Arthur, so he turned to Torris. "What just happened?"

Torris smiled. "Tino's boyfriend usually comes by after to walk with him. I'm assuming he has him on the office phone in the back. He always calls to let him know when we are done."

Arthur sighed, "I guess having a chat means walking home together."

"You'll get more privacy that way than you would here." Torris gestured to the few people still hanging around.

"I guess."

At that, Tino returned from the back room grinning. "You ready?"

"Sure," Arthur responded knowing he would just have to go with the flow.

"You call Berwald?" Torris addressed Tino.

"Yep, there's a place he's going to meet me a few blocks from where we are heading," Tino turned to Arthur, "You'll have to walk the end alone."

"Initially, I planned to walk it all alone."

"Then, I'm glad I get to keep your company. Let's head out."

The three of them said goodbye to each other. Torris stared at Arthur intently when reminding him about hanging out soon. Then, Arthur stood back while Tino embraced everyone left and said goodbye to them. Suddenly, they were out on the dark sidewalk, the breeze the only thing disturbing the world around them.

They walked the first block in silence until Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

"Anything you want."

"You planned to walk with me hoping I would talk?"

Tino sighed, "I'm not sure where to start. I feel like we come from similar places and are going through something similar, but that I've done it first and came out the other side. I felt like I could help."

Arthur nodded. He bit his lip thinking. "My family had a dinner once where everyone made fun of you."

Tino's pace stuttered before continuing slower than before. Arthur took the hesitation as a reason to continue.

"It was just my immediate family, but both my brothers joined in, even Walt. They were saying shit about how they didn't think they could handle having a son like that. They said stuff about how horrible it was that your family was letting you stay. My brothers laughed about your demeanor. Before that, I thought I could maybe trust Walt. Scott said something about Walt once admitting to… urges and getting over them. I mean, that part was complicated, the point is… the point… I'm not sure of the point. I just know things I feel I shouldn't, and I heard them from people being horrible." Arthur swallowed after his rush of words unsure if he made any sense at all.

Tino kicked a stone into the street and paused on a corner. "It sucks knowing people actually did end up gossiping like that."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault, but what they are making fun of comes _ after _ my happy ending. It's a strange feeling."

Arthur nodded pretending to understand.

Tino watched Arthur and pursed his lips.

"Let me tell you everything." He started walking again as he began to explain, "My parents and family were similar to yours, there was lots of stress and stuff. The difference is that I never completely fooled anyone. Everyone always knew something was off about me. They knew before I did. I mean, I know how I look and act and that my interests can be, ah, unorthodox for boys.

"So my family really instilled how to be in me as if mentioning it early would stop it. Their behavior didn't. Plus, I was an optimist," Tino sighed. "Long story short, I'm gay, they found out about Berwald, and I was kicked out for a bit with nowhere to go. It was hard."

Arthur blinked. "I've been trying to avoid getting kicked out."

"Okay, yes! I'm having trouble saying things. I'm not good with words. That part of the story isn't important. Well, it is an important thing that happened to me, but it's not the reason I'm telling you. Earlier I said your family was making fun of my happy ending, right?"

Arthur nodded.

"I'm dating someone I love, I live at home and, although my family is a little awkward, they talk to and acknowledge Berwald. I mean, sure he's still aloof because he's mad about the getting kicked out thing, but still. The point is that even if they didn't accept me, everything wouldn't have been better if I was stuck with them. There's everyone from the meeting; there's opportunity elsewhere. The people I'm around now make my life worth it.

"Yes, sometimes people can harass me, and my family relationships can be weird at best, but this is so much better than before everything came out. The good is worth the bad. That's the first thing I wanted to say."

Arthur questioned, "You wanted to walk me home just to say that life is good and bad at the same time but to just do what makes you happy?"

"I, well, kind of. That rant was because you told a story about your family gossiping about mine, but it fits what I want to get across to you," Tino paused, "Actually, I think I got off track a lot. I wasn't expecting you to know anything about that."

"Sorry."

Tino waved off the apology. "What do you think is going to happen for you next?"

"Honestly, I think everything will still fall apart. I might end up right where Francis found me again." Arthur wished he was surprised by his own admittance.

Tino shook his head back and forth while listening.

"Arthur, family is what you make it. It is just hard to start making. You've lived your whole life listening to the same few people and molding yourself for them. The question starts to become who are you? Who can you be? If they disown you, are you going to end up having to disown the self that exists because of them?"

Arthur nodded along swallowing to hold back tears. He was unsuccessful, and his eyes began to water.

Tino carried on unnaturally serious. "Those questions are important. They are hard, and other people won't understand that. The thing is it only feels like they made you the you you are. If you can reject some of their influence, that means you got to choose the others. All the you that is you is you by choice. It's naturally you. If you end up leaving them behind, you don't have to leave behind the parts of you that are reminders of your time with them, you know that right?"

"No one has ever said it before. I, I hadn't thought of it that way."

Tino gave Arthur an empathetic smile seeing past the tears. He continued, "The search for personal happiness is important. You're at a point where you'll have to find that for yourself."

"You're too wise for someone so small."

Tino laughed. "Stop that. I'm trying really hard to sound smart and thoughtful."

"No, no. You've succeeded. I think you were right about having gone through something similar."

Tino nodded looking pleased. They walked another block this time in a comfortable silence.

"You mentioned your brother Walt earlier," Tino trailed off as if he didn't know exactly where to go from there.

"Yeah?" Arthur became guarded.

"I know you only mentioned him a little. Are you close?"

"We are, or were, I suppose. He moved away recently, and I haven't really reached out to him."

"But you said you thought you could talk to him about this stuff?"

"I thought I could, but then he said things that made me second guess it all."

"Maybe you should."

"This advice coming from any specific experience?"

Tino shrugged. "I didn't have siblings, but it seems like you guys had a close relationship. Could be worth trying."

"I don't know."

"Did he do something that bad? I don't want to be giving bad advice," Tino rushed in a panic.

Arthur pocketed his hands thinking back on everything that happened between him and Walt. "Actually, I don't think so. We had some strange conversations before he left, but maybe that was just because I was hoping he was going to say something that was never going to happen."

"Projecting?"

"Exactly. Then, my life got crazy, and I didn't know what to say."

"You were able to talk to strangers tonight," Tino stated as if cheering Arthur on.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll have to think about it, since my parents undoubtedly have called him by now."

"Ouch."

"Exactly."

Tino glanced at Arthur. "I have one last thing to say and, then, I'll drop it."

Arthur shrugged as a way to tell Tino to continue.

"I may currently live with my parents, but I won't once I start working. I live with them and am related to them, but they aren't who I consider family anymore. Family is what you make it, and you can leave the rest behind. It's possible."

Arthur stared at Tino not wanting to say anything back, letting the words sink in. Tino nodded minutely as if he understood that Arthur was trying to communicate that the words were heard without having to actually think of something to say.

After that, Tino changed topics to more pleasant subjects trying to get to know Arthur better while they finished their walk. Arthur stuttered seeing a large man on a bench across the street.

He huffed a smile and cut off Tino's chatter. "Tino, I think he's here for you." Arthur nodded in the direction down and across the street.

"Huh?" Tino paused; then, looked where Arthur was signaling. His face split into a grin, eyes sparkling. "Oh, wow, that was a fast walk."

He turned to Arthur. "Well, have a good night and safe walk back."

Arthur nodded. "You too."

"I'll see you next time, right?" Tino said seriously, giving Arthur an intense look.

"I think so."

Tino smiled again. "Good." Turning around he waved. "Bye, Arthur!"

Arthur watched him jog towards Berwarld who stood up to greet him. The large man looked over to Arthur and raised a hand in greeting before moving it to Tino's back to direct him away. Arthur stared at them going, thinking about everything Tino told him about the two of them. They were odd, but they worked.

The night felt a little empty without Tino's presence, but Arthur was still happy about the chance to be alone for a while, knowing Francis would be waiting for him and that this could be the only time to think about everything that happened.

The group was surprisingly helpful. Having a community to be open with felt like nothing he has felt before. Then, there was Tino and all the things he said. It was a lot to process, but for the time being his mind kept locking on two things: Walt and the fact that Francis was likely awake waiting for him when he didn't have to be.

Arthur approached the door to Francis's house slowly.

Francis sat up on the chair having obviously been dozing while reading. He grinned at Arthur. "Was it good?"

Arthur wished he could hide his smile to not give Francis the satisfaction of being right. "Yeah, very."

He flopped onto the couch prepared to tell Francis about his night and listen to what Francis thought about it all.

* * *

Arthur laid awake his face towards the back of the couch. Once he woke up from his catnap, he was unable to go back to sleep. His mind was racing about everything that had happened and everything that was to come. He turned to his back with a groan, and stared at the way the lamplight reflected off the ceiling. The muffled scratching of the end of the record they had put on earlier was oddly soothing the same way radio static during a rainstorm could be. Arthur furrowed his brow at the sound. Francis hadn't turned off the record?

He turned his head again to see why. Francis had fallen asleep on the chair just like Arthur had on the couch. Arthur pushed himself up to get a better look. Francis was curled in on himself, likely cold. He must have moved around in his sleep to get in position because his robe was on the ground and hair was muzzled sticking out of his ponytail, some messily creeping up the back of the chair. Despite looking tousled and likely uncomfortable, he seemed peaceful.

Arthur's lips quirked a feeling in his chest swelled ballooning out from his heart. Slowly he got up from the couch, eyes not leaving the resting Francis. In one quick movement, he draped his own blanket over Francis who sleepily grabbed at it and tucked it under his chin. Arthur froze at the movement afraid he woke his friend up and would be caught.

Instead, Francis snuggled into the blanket messing up his hair more. Arthur bit his lip to hold back a chuckle. Softly, he ran his fingers through Francis's hair to get it out of his face and fix it. After running his hands through it slowly pushing the strands back and down, his eyes trained on Francis's face.

He glanced towards the kitchen and paused his hand. Leaning down he whispered, "Please stay asleep for me, okay?" He stood up, brushed Francis's hair one last time and tiptoed into the kitchen.

The rhythmic sounds from the record player disappeared as he entered the kitchen, the room partially lit by the street lights shining through the windows. Arthur looked at the phone in the corner. A tremble ran up his arm. He gripped at his hands to steady himself. With a shaky breath he whispered, "You can do this."

He shuffled through the room and hopped onto the counter so that he could lean against the wall next to the phone. He stared at the way the light reflected on it and ran his fingers back and forth over it trying to work up the courage to lift it while using the physical feeling of it to ground himself. He bit his lip hard and lifted the phone.

The number he put in had been ingrained in his brain for weeks. Using it was always an option, but back then, he thought taking the time to craft the perfect arrangement of words was more important. Now, he regretted spending time doing that instead of biting the bullet and calling. The ringing on the other end built his confidence. He could do this. The hardest part was done. He just hoped he'd get a response this late at night.

The phone clicked, and a groggy voice answered, "Hello?"

Arthur furrowed his brows and bit at his thumb. He definitely woke up the speaker and couldn't be sure who it was. "Walt?" His voice cracked.

There was muffling on the other end. The phone was possibly dropped, or at least moved around as the speaker moved to be more attentive. Arthur's words obviously woke them up. Walt gasped, "Oh my God, Arthur! Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm guessing you talked with mom and dad?"

"Did I talk with -? God, Arthur, Fuck," Walt stuttered out. "Yes, I talked with mom and dad. I talked with them more than a day ago." The accusation was clear.

"Oh." Arthur knew they'd reach out to Walt, but had still been holding out hope that they didn't.

"Arthur, are you safe? Where are you? I just, _ what _ has been happening?" Walt was loud and spoke with conviction.

"I…" Arthur leaned back and banged his head against the wall. "I don't know what mom and dad said, but I'm safe."

"What they said? You have a lot of explaining to do. You jumped out a window? You're on fucking drugs? What the fuck!"

Arthur let out a breath. "That's…" He tailed off.

"It isn't wrong is it?"

"Not exactly."

"Fuck, Arthur." Arthur could hear movement on the other side. Walt spoke again, calmer, more defeated. "Where are you, Arthur?"

"I've been staying with Francis."

Walt sputtered trying to piece together what he knew. "You've been getting high with _ Francis _?"

"No, God, no. He's helping me stop. I, there's so much to say, um. Firstly, the cocaine thing started before you even left."

"God dammit," Walt breathed into the phone.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. They stayed on the phone unspeaking listening to each other's breathing.

Walt broke the silence, "You tried to tell me, didn't you? Before I left?"

Arthur nodded, before remembering to speak out loud. "I was trying to tell you a lot more than that."

"I wasn't sure," Walt trailed off.

Arthur blurted, "I'm gay." He gripped the phone tightly waiting for a response.

"I know."

Arthur swallowed, tearing up. He spat, "Fuck you. You don't get to say that."

A pause.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Arthur wiped at his face trying to compose himself.

"I only wanted to help. I just wasn't sure how, and now everything has gone to shit."

"You're not the reason it's all shit right now," Arthur confessed knowing that his situation was far beyond Walt.

His brother stayed silent on the other end of the line.

Arthur leaned into the wall, gripped the phone close, and muttered, "How long did you know?"

"A really long time. I thought it was a possibility for a while, and then, I had a feeling," Walt trailed off. He summarized, "Just a long time."

"So all your brother talks," Arthur's voice held a trembling venom, "You've just been trying to give me advice and hint that you knew."

"Not all of them."

Arthur wanted to laugh but his throat was swollen from crying and it came out as a short croak. He murmured sarcastically, "Not all of them."

"Are you actually mad I was trying to help?" Walt accused.

Angry tears flowed that Arthur's cheeks. "If you were trying to help, you would have told me how to fix it! I never figured out how to fix myself." Sobs traveled through the phone to Walt on the other side.

"Arthur," Walt said as comfortingly as he could. "I don't understand. There's nothing to fix. Come on. You have to realize that."

"I'm just an unlucky person that's unfixable. I fucking realized it alright."

"I don't, why, what's got you believing that crap?"

"You fixed yourself!" Arthur sobbed. "You fucking fixed yourself and never told me how I could. You never talked about it. I wanted you to talk about it." His voice trailed off into stilted breathing.

Walt's voice was dry with surprise. "What?"

"Scott told me all about how you had _ urges _ when you were younger, how mom and dad tried to help, how you got _ better _ and moved on."

"Dammit Scott."

"You should have told me. What was the secret, hmm?" Arthur tried to sound at least a little threatening but the crying made himself sound pathetic and desperate to his own ears.

"I lied," Walt stated.

Arthur paused. "What?"

"I lied. The entire time I lied. To them and to myself. I had a kind of privilege to wait it out until I could leave. Then, I left. To Wales."

"You pretended? You even pretended to have girlfriends?"

Walt sighed. "Arthur, I'm not gay. I'm bisexual."

Arthur's grip on the phone loosened. Scott had not said or even hinted at it, but then again, would Scott of all people even believe something like that? It made so much sense looking back on everything.

"You still with me, Arthur?" Walt's voice broke Arthur out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry."

"I, uh, wasn't expecting that to be surprising."

"Well it was."

"I guess we both misunderstood how much we thought we knew about each other."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed. He rubbed at his face. "What are mom and dad going to do with me?"

"I don't know, but I don't think they even really know what happened. You just ran out and disappeared." Walt was trying to emphasize the second part.

"I guess I did." Arthur picked at Francis's pajama pants that he was borrowing.

"Can you at least summarize what happened? I'm still at a huge loss. To me you went from maybe sneaking out once and writing in your room to doing cocaine and running away out a second story window."

"I've left through my window a lot. That shouldn't be surprising at all. I thought everyone could hear me on the roof."

Walt groaned, "What the fuck?"

"Sorry."

"Please. Maybe I can give some advice if you explain it."

"Okay," Arthur agreed and he explained from, well, not the beginning exactly. Even he wasn't sure about where the real beginning was. He started his story to Walt by talking about Francis because what he wanted to talk about was Francis. From Francis, he mentioned his first time sneaking out and all the things that snowballed from there.

Confessing to Walt in some ways was similar to talking to the group earlier in the evening. In other ways, it was vastly different. He purposely left out and emphasized different things; he talked less about how certain things felt. For Walt, he tried to keep what actually happened when he went out to the bare facts. All his mistakes there were on a need to know basis, and all Walt needed to know was that he was reckless and drugs were involved.

Walt tried to butt in when Arthur mentioned attempting to write to him. Arthur had let him make comments earlier, but claimed that if he stopped talking now, he might lose his courage. He mentioned the notebooks being discovered, escaping through the window, and Francis finding him in an alley. He spent a lot of time trying to explain the group without giving too much information and ended with when he got up to make the phone call.

Their conversation became overtly emotional with Walt simply pointing out parts of the story as he tried to respond. They spent a few minutes just summarizing facts back and forth before talking about feelings. Time passed, but they kept talking until the conversation got lighter and lighter.

"So, you and Francis are a thing?" Walt asked.

Arthur spluttered. "God, no."

"You said you were sleeping together."

Arthur's face heated. He thought Walt wouldn't go down this line of questioning if he left out the part about showing up to Francis's house drunk. "I'm staying over at his house. On the couch. Because I didn't want to go home. It's like you didn't listen to anything I've said."

"Oh, I thought you liked Francis."

"I don't," Arthur practically squeaked.

"Are you trying to lie?" Walt prodded.

"Please stop."

"So you like Francis, but you are not together? I'm not going to lie, I kind of assumed you've had some sort of secret relationship for a while."

"Why would you think that?"

"He seemed like he had feelings and was bad at hiding them."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't. Francis likes to pick up strays." Arthur tried to sound confident but some uncertainty bled through. Walt's questioning was making him think.

"You consider yourself a stray?"

"Not like I have a home."

"Arthur," Walt sighed.

"Are you going to try to tell me they won't just kick me out the moment I step foot in their door?"

"Actually, yes."

Arthur snorted.

"Listen. They aren't going to be happy, but there are appearances to keep. That is most important to them. You can figure it out."

"I don't know if I can." Arthur's voice cracked.

"Hey, hey, listen to me," Walt tried to calm Arthur. "It's not forever. It's short term until you can leave like me."

"You just have to make them think that no one will be capable of gossiping about anything you do. Make them letting you stay around the better option."

"They'll hate me. I can't deal with that."

"They hate confrontation more than anything and will mostly leave you alone. Plus, I'm here. You can always call me, and I am also in their ear. You'll be fine."

"I don't know."

"Please. Do it for me. Where else would you go? I," Walt let in a calming breath, "I don't think being on the streets or couch surfing is the best thing while you're recovering."

Arthur paused. He hadn't thought about how not going home would affect him like that, but it definitely would in the end.

"I can try. Just until I find something else."

"You don't have too much longer until you're out of school."

Arthur whispered, "And I can go to university anywhere." If he played it right, they'd want to help send him away.

"Exactly," Walt agreed.

Arthur wanted to say more but a yawn overtook him. Walt chuckled. "You called really late. We should probably both be going to sleep."

Arthur agreed, "Yeah, okay."

"You'll call again soon, right?"

"I will."

"Tell Francis I say hi."

"Whatever."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"Night, Walt."

With a click, Arthur hung up the phone.

* * *

A/N: Yay another update! Hope all ya'll are staying and feeling safe.

I have most of the rest of this drafted. My work also just cut my work hours in half, so in theory I'll upload faster (but also it's extra stress)

MORE IMPORTANTLY: Do you use AO3? I am considering not uploading works here and only using AO3 after this fic (due to a long list of reasons I'm more than willing to share) but will keep posting here if there are people who only use this site. I really have no way to tell and am just trying to get an idea.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14: A Gentleman's Return to His Somewhat Home_

Going home was horrible up until he entered the front door. Francis walked with him trying to keep him calm until the last block. Arthur wanted to walk the end alone. That's what he told Francis. In reality, he wasn't sure if he would tell his family he had stayed with Francis and was worried that if they saw both of them together, they'd blame Francis. Getting to continue spending time with Francis was high on his priority list.

Nothing expected happened after he entered the front door.

Upon entering, he stood in the entryway unsure if he should call out. The decision was made for him when his mom came out of the kitchen to see who came in. She paused in shock before running at Arthur and engulfing him in a hug.

Arthur stood stiffly in surprise as his usually distant mother made exclamations and pet his hair. After a moment, she leaned back, hands still on his shoulders and called that Arthur was home. Arthur assumed Scott was in the house, but only his dad appeared. Together they ushered him into the living room where they sat, Arthur on the chair and his parents on the couch.

The conversation was fast and confusing, something that even as an adult, Arthur still can't piece together everything that was said, but maybe it was good that he let himself forget the exactness of the harsh words spoken. He told them he had been fine and had been staying with friends.

"You left out a window! I don't get it. Why would you jump out a second-story window?" Mrs. Kirkland asked.

Arthur filed that question in his brain noting how they also didn't realize how often he used his window as an escape route. In the moment, his eyes watered and he begrudgingly admitted, "I panicked, and, just… couldn't handle you kicking me out."

At the confession, Arthur's father let out a breath and leaned back. Thus, started the hardest conversation of Arthur's life - hard, but he came out the other side mostly unscathed. There were almost accusations. Somehow, his family was able to talk to him about what they figured out while avoiding using the term homosexual or gay - their insinuations were harsh yet vague. With their discomfort, Arthur was able to put Walt's plan into action by asserting that he didn't have plans to do anything publically. Although most of Arthur's explanations and assertions didn't make sense under scrutiny, his uncomfortable parents were quick to latch onto his excuses lest they actually have to do something worthy of gossip. He was lingering on the edge of what they could handle.

After their conversation, he excused himself to his room. He walked up the stairs slowly, taking the time to look at the blank wall leading the way up, so different than the one at Francis's full of pictures. At the top of the stairs, he peered down the hall. Walt's room was cracked open as if serving as a reminder that his brother was on his side. Scott's door was closed, but through the crack, Arthur could see that his light was on. He swallowed thickly; his stomach clenched. Memories of time spent with Scott flashed before his mind's eye. He turned away, and went into his room.

He shut the door behind him softly and sat down in his desk chair. He spun around in it slowly surveying the room. He had an out of body experience, a recognition of facts. This is his room. The room he has always had. He's been gone a few days, but it feels so long. It feels like a strange room. He paused on the blank walls. Maybe Francis was right when he complained about the space lacking Arthur. He continued to turn. Or maybe he was a different person than who he was when he last crawled out the window.

He stopped his spinning and faced the desk. Putting his elbow on the surface, he leaned into his hand and ran his fingers across the books and spirals on it. He traced a notebook, one that he had left out deciding it was pure enough. A finger tapped along the edge of _Jane Eyre _. Fingers rubbed over the cover of _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. _Arthur paused his hand and poked the cover as if balancing the weight of his palm over the book.

He lifted his head and shifted leaning towards it. Slowly, he pulled the book towards him. Flipping the cover open, he read the message inside:

_To the Littlest Man, _

_Growing up here is fast and difficult. Take some time to escape and find yourself. The wardrobe and the opportunities inside are tempting, but remember there's a lot to miss on the outside. _

_-Walter _

The book remained open as he leaned back in the chair. He ran his fingers over the words, mouth quirking.

With an amused huff he murmured, "Knew for a long time alright."

In one movement, he pushed the book aside, grabbed his notebook, and flipped to a blank page. In that moment as he began to write, it felt like he was falling into a place he was meant to be.

What happened when Arthur returned home was not bad, but being home was not good by any means. Scott avoided Arthur. It took him a while to notice his absence, but he was forced to acknowledge it when they passed each other in the hallway. Scott had made a point to stay as far away from Arthur as possible, not even looking at him. Oddly, his hatred didn't hurt as much as Arthur expected it to.

For what it was, Arthur's family avoiding him whenever possible except to make odd jabs, or in his mother's case, not so subtle pleas about working on himself, was good. He took the time to focus on himself in a way he never let himself before. There's something about hiding that forces you to think of yourself in terms of how others see you instead of how you see yourself.

He continued going to group meetings in the back of the bookstore slowly making friends and getting advice. It was as if the need to go out was slowly being replaced by going there and connecting with the people there - except this was free and he could complain about how his family was treating him. The one thing that really solidified that he would survive was that he finally got around to working with Vlad.

The notebook he was using to convert his writings to song lyrics had remained hidden in the back of his closet during the days he was gone, and he was able to share them with Vlad who accepted them with excitement starting their creative partnership.

These things, although taking up time, started slow. During this first month home, Arthur tried to remain under the radar as a way to show his family that things would not change and that he would not make them look particularly bad as long as they tended to his basic needs. The worst part was that he did not get to see Francis. The few times he left the house for group meetings and to see Vlad were already pushing it. The only reason he could go to the group consistently was because he had the most put-together person there vouch for him about it just being a meeting to help people overcome unruly addictions - something that pleased both his parents and benefited him greatly.

During the second meeting, week two after coming home, Arthur asked Torris to pass along a note to Francis explaining how things were going at home and his need to lay low for a while. He may have also folded up a poem with the letter. He tried not to think about that or the memory of the one taped to Francis's wall.

Things were okay, and after everything he'd been through, okay meant he was doing good.

For some reason, he was surprised there were no family dinners with the Bonneyfoys for a month. Kirklands could be smart sometimes, and Arthur realized they must suspect that somehow Francis was involved. Considering they were letting him out of the house, he doubted that they just wanted to hide their son from close business partners. Something like that could only lead to questions.

* * *

A month of not seeing Francis, and he would be coming over soon. Arthur peered over the book he was reading in the living room. Everyone was acting normal, and he couldn't get a good read on them. He was trying not to panic, but was very much panicking. Who knew how Francis would act? Hell, who knew how he was supposed to act not just around Francis but also around his family and Francis at the same time?

A knock at the door didn't give him time to think of answers to his own questions. The knocking caused Mr. Kirkland to curse from the other room and say something about them not listening about coming later. Arthur got up to answer the door, seeing as no one else would. Rising, he glanced at Scott who was ignoring the door.

Opening the door, he was engulfed in a hug from Mrs. Bonnefoy who immediately went into exclamations about missing all the Kirklands. Arthur greeted Mr. Bonnefoy as Mrs. Kirkland appeared from the kitchen.

"I thought I told you to come closer to dinner," Mrs. Kirkland's voice sounded strained despite her efforts to appear welcoming. Arthur turned to get a reading on his mom.

Mrs. Bonnefoy laughed, obviously not sensing any tension. "I just couldn't help myself. It's been too long since we've all had the chance to get together." She walked into the kitchen and began to ask how Walt was doing.

A click from the door brought Arthur's attention forward again. Francis closed the door and turned around to face Arthur. His lips quirked at the Brit. Arthur noticed Francis's fingers twitch before he put them behind his back as if stopping himself from reaching out.

"How have you been, Arthur? Haven't seen you in a while," Francis asked casually walking into the house.

Arthur realized he was staring and had to shake himself out of it. "I've been surprisingly good. How about you?"

Francis continued to walk so that he was near the living room and paused as if unsure of where to go next. "Good. I was having some trouble for a while, but then got some good news from a friend and a gift a few weeks ago. Things have been on the up since."

"That's good to hear," Arthur stated flatly.

Arthur was stiff. No one was looking at them, but he felt like all ears were on them. He glanced at the men in the living room, none turned his direction, but Scott's ear faced him directly. He looked back at Francis who stood a little too casually.

Francis shook his head amused. "Well, I read a book recently that I think you'd like. It reminded me of something you wrote - some fantasy thing. I can't remember." Francis shot a playful look to Arthur and then glanced at the stairs intently.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I think I know which one you're talking about. I can dig it up." Arthur turned towards the stairs. Francis followed. They tried to walk at a casual pace, both aware that the Kirklands were not-so-subtly paying attention to them.

Once they reached the top half of the stairs, they scrambled into Arthur's room. Francis went to close the door, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

"Leave it open. A closed door looks suspicious."

Then, Arthur pushed at Francis's back to signal for him to sit on the bed. Arthur threw a notebook at Francis who fumbled it and grabbed one for himself before sitting at the desk.

"What?" Francis began to ask.

"Just keep it near you and trust me." Arthur eyed the door.

Francis nodded. He spoke quietly, recognizing the door was open. "So you're okay?"

"You said you got my letter, right? That's what that meant?" Arthur waved his arm towards his door to better define his words.

"Yeah, but maybe you couldn't say anything."

Arthur chuckled. "I literally wrote everything that happened to me since I got here _and _had Torris deliver it."

Francis shrugged. "A guy worries."

"I get it." Arthur leaned back into his desk chair. "It's so good to see you. You have no idea."

"Glad to hear it."

"Don't get a big head, Frog."

Francis ignored the jab. "So you're under lock and key pretty tightly?"

Arthur hummed. "I've been playing it safe, but I think I'm getting to a point where I can push it. Still need to keep up appearances, but no one realized anything before. I can get around them. Plus, they don't know what to look for. As far as I can tell, they only know about the notebook and drugs. I've been hoping I could pass off the drugs as a writer thing and less of a going out thing."

Francis's eyebrows rose as Arthur talked. "They didn't realize anything?"

"Everyone was shocked that I left through the window," Arthur gestured to his window, "They somehow never realized I did it all the time else they'd have barred it." He tried to joke.

Francis stood straighter trying to get a glimpse out the window without standing. "You used to use your window as a door?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "How else did I sneak out?"

"The front door?"

"Also, it's not completely a used to."

"No," Francis exclaimed, leaning forward to show he was interested in Arthur's gossip.

"It's how I meet up with Vlad sometimes. We meet up too much for me to leave out the front door every time."

Francis laughed and shook his head. "Ridiculous."

"At least it'll be easier soon with school. I don't need excuses not to be around as much during the day."

"Then you'll be free to spend time with moi?"

"Maybe."

"You should come to book club," Francis suggested.

"Another maybe."

"Don't play hard to get."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow in response.

"You'll love it. We meet next week on Tuesday. I'll write down the info." Francis already moved to write in the back of the notebook Arthur gave him

"I didn't read the book."

Francis patted his shoulder bag. "Also it'd be your first meeting, so you wouldn't have had to."

Arthur pursed his lips.

Francis's eyes glanced around his face taking in his expression.

"Come on. I haven't gotten to see you, especially like this." Arthur swallowed his denial at Francis's seriousness. They stared each other down. Arthur's mouth dried. Sometimes, it was easy to forget the circumstances of the last time they saw each other - Francis finding him high in an alley.

Arthur nodded, "Okay. I'll go."

Francis beamed. "Awesome!"

"What's awesome?" A new voice asked. They both turned to see Scott leaning in the doorway. Francis looked to Arthur to gauge his reaction and only saw panic. He turned back to see Scott glaring at him.

"Well?"

"Nothing you'd care about," Francis said flippantly.

"Try me," Scott challenged.

Francis rolled his eyes acting as if the exchange was below him. Arthur could see through the act so butted in, "We are looking for that old fantasy story I wrote."

"Yeah, Arthur just said he started working on it again," Francis added finally realizing why Arthur made sure they each were holding a notebook. He took the one Arthur chunked at him earlier and waved it about.

Scott snorted. "As if you actually care."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't like what you're doing. You do realize my brother was fine before he met you, right?"

"He seems rather fine, now. Maybe you need your eyes checked."

"I think you need to stay away from Arthur. You're a bad influence."

Francis clenched his jaw. "Why would you say that?"

"You know why."

"Are you saying Arthur has been breaking rules recently? Come on, we all know he's a rule follower."

"I'm saying I know you're a fag, and that I think you should leave."

"Well, I think you should get the fuck out," Arthur's stern voice caught their attention. He was standing from his chair stiff with anger staring straight at Scott.

Scott's eyebrow twitched as he looked at his brother. "What?"

"Stop harassing my friend and get the fuck out."

Scott shifted his feet and let out a huff. "Was hoping you weren't a lost cause, Arthur."

"Walt doesn't think so," Arthur challenged.

Scott shook his head shaking away his surprise and in an attempt to maintain a semblance of dominance. "You should watch your language."

"And you should watch who you threaten."

"Fine," Scott spat. He turned to walk out but paused in the doorway. He tapped it twice. "Dinner is almost ready by the way." Then, he was gone.

Arthur let out a sigh and fell into his chair. He turned to face Francis who was looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Francis whispered.

Arthur rubbed at his face.

"You just did that."

Arthur groaned, "Yeah, I did."

"That was amazing and also crazy and also you're so screwed," Francis prattled.

"Maybe," Arthur stood up, "Might as well head down."

Francis went to follow and ran into Arthur who stopped walking at the top of the stairs. He grabbed Francis and pulled him back so that they'd be out of view of anyone looking up the stairs. He leaned close looking up at Francis's face and whispered, "I don't think we'll get any time away from them after that."

Francis nodded.

Arthur continued, "I'm coming to book club. Pick me up in the back garden on your way alright?"

"Alright."

They paused. Francis looking into Arthur's face searching. Arthur licked his lips watching the way Francis's eyes moved. He wanted to reach out, they were so close. Francis leaned forward. Arthur turned around not realizing Francis had been moving and led the way downstairs. After a moment, Francis followed.

They kept up friendly conversation through dinner, but attempted to maintain a semblance of distance. Arthur felt he had his family mostly fooled as they didn't give any attention to him, but he could feel Scott's stare at times. They didn't get any other time alone just like he predicted.

When the Bonnefoys left, he received a hug from Mrs. Bonneyfoy and shook Mr. Bonneyfoy's hand. He offered his hand for Francis to shake. Francis scoffed good-naturedly as he took it saying goodbye. Arthur took a moment to analyze the handshake. For a moment, it was as if Francis was the one who had been trained as a gentleman his entire life.

* * *

A/N:

A little late chapter. I always get a little slow towards the end of fics. Finishing feels like letting all the characters go.  
Either way, the end is in our sights, and I'm excited to share. I'm trying to figure out how to best split future chapters, because one of the drafts is rather long.

Hope everyone is staying safe and doing well.

I'm on tumblr as allavengedromance and twitter bethfrombackrow if you want to follow or chat! I also upload to AO3 as allavengedromance if you'd rather read there (It's friendlier for formatting and this site doesn't allow for staanzas in future poems)


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